A Ghoulish Midlife (Witching After Forty #1) - Lia Davis Page 0,9

insurance money went to the college, last month, to ensure Wallie was set, and it was either I got a book out or I got a job. There wasn’t an alternative.

I might have to do both for a while. But before I considered a job, I needed to get the old Victorian on the market and then sold. See what type of timeline I’m working with.

Another amazing thing was that I slept for four uninterrupted hours. I haven’t slept that well since before Clay died. Plus, I woke with a smile on my face. That never happened because I wasn’t a morning person. It took me at least an hour for my brain to wake up.

Not this morning. Even though it was late morning, swiftly approaching noon.

With my smile in place, I stood at the window, drinking my coffee, feeling more peaceful than I had since the love of my life left this earth.

Apparently, this sea air was a miracle worker. I’d have to make a point to go on more beach vacations once the house was sold and I was back home in Philly.

Baby steps. I’ve told myself that for the last five years. That’s what it had been—one baby step after another. I can do this.

Turning away from the window, I set my coffee cup down on the dresser on my way to the bathroom across the hall from my room. I was so looking forward to a semi-cool shower to recharge my senses and wake my ass up. One would think being in Maine in the fall that a hot shower would be better. One would understand if they had premenopausal hot flashes. Why did they call them flashes? I was hot all the time. There were no flashes. It was constant.

I turned the shower on and frowned. An awful groan coming from the pipes didn’t sound very promising. Then rust-colored water spit and sputtered out of the shower head. The old pipes did not want to let me shower. Or bathe. Ugh.

Conjuring my magical list and pen, I added plumbing to my list of things I’d have to have fixed. The list I would be giving the contractor when he arrived tomorrow. My bank account was dwindling. Fixing this place up would clean it out if I even had enough. And then what?

Getting a job was looking like my reality for the next few months.

Giving up on the cool shower, I looked over my list of things I needed to get at the grocery and hardware store. I’d do as much of the repairs as I could myself.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t much.

Nothing to do but dig into it. I washed the best I could in the sink. Not that I could fit inside the sink. The old sponge bath wasn’t what I longed for, but it freshened me up enough to make the trip into town.

With my second cup of coffee in a travel mug, I started Dia and headed to town. On the way to the hardware store, I noticed a bookstore that definitely hadn’t been there the last time I was in town.

Who was I, an author of some success, to pass up a bookstore? Even before I became an author, I’d never pass up a bookstore. Pulling a U-turn at the next light, I backtracked to the land of fiction.

After parking Dia in a spot, I entered the store, inhaling the wonderful smell of books. There was nothing like it. It was almost better than chocolate. Almost. Looking around, I realized that I remembered the store now. Auntie brought me here once a week. While she went to the occult section, I disappeared in the various fiction sections. I read just about every type of genre, my taste changing often. The storefront must’ve been updated since I was here last. That must have been why I hadn’t recognized it.

“Hello?” I called out as I moved closer to the counter to my right.

“Come in!” A thin man hurried out of the back. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. There was a friendly, warm energy that surrounded him. I couldn’t help but smile. When he got up front and behind the counter, he stopped short while staring at me. “Oh,” he breathed. “You’re Ava Howe.”

Well, I must’ve known him somehow. He sure seemed to know me. Could he be the same owner from when Auntie and I came all those years ago? No, he was much too young to have worked in the store