Love & Curses(13)

She shook her head. This was an argument she wasn’t going to get into. “Just do what you can to reverse whatever it is you think you did. I’ll make sure to be careful. Goodnight, Auntie.”

She hit the end button and tiptoed back into the living room only to find Andy sitting up. Reaching over, he clicked on the table lamp and leaned back into the cushions, arms crossed against his chest, eyebrow cocked.

Well shit. “Everything was all on speaker, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, it sure was. So, your aunt is a witch or something?”

Calista set the receiver on the charging unit and sat next to him. “Or something. She believes she and our ancestors were Gypsies. And that she has the ability to cast spells or, in this case, curse people. It’s all a bunch of hooey, but I’ve always put up with it because it’s easier than arguing with her.”

“I see. So she believes she cursed Ben, and now you’re being punished for it by all these accidents?”

Hearing his summation made the whole thing sound even more ridiculous. “Well, yeah, when you say it like that.” Heat crept up her neck, and trying to play down her embarrassment, she shrugged. “In a nut shell.”

He nodded. “Guess I’d better watch my back when it comes to her, huh?”

Calista’s heart stuttered. Would her crazy aunt be a deal breaker for him? Just my luck. I finally find a great guy, and wacky Aunt Nadya decides to start hurling curses. Great.

“Hey, I was joking.” He stood, the blanket draped around his waist, and grabbed her hand. “Come on. Let’s get some sleep. We’ll worry about death later.”

She followed him upstairs to her bedroom and joined him beneath the covers. Andy snuggled next to her, his arm warm against her hip. But as she lay there in the dark, listening to his slow, rhythmic breaths, worry crept up from the pit of her relationship abyss and picked at the frayed edges of her confidence.

He probably would’ve found another excuse to walk away anyway. They always do.

Closing her eyes, she committed to memory the intimate feel of the man next to her. The hardness of his body against hers. The alluring scent of his aftershave. The way his mouth had felt on hers.

She dreamed of what it might be like to sleep in his arms every night. The lifetime of memories they could create. The happiness they would share, and his promise to never leave her.

Rolling onto her side, she reached for him. But cool sheets met her hand.

“Andy?” She opened her eyes to somber morning light streaming across the bed, and her chest tightened.

Gone.

Aunt Nadya had been right about one thing. She was cursed. At love.

Grabbing her robe from the floor, she swathed her body in the thick terry and dragged herself to the bathroom. She splashed cold water on her face, taking perverse satisfaction at the icy sting to her skin. Straightening, she glimpsed her reflection in the mirror.

“You were an idiot to believe. To hope.” She shook her head, hardening her heart in resolution. “Well, no more. You’re done.”

She spun on her heel and headed to the kitchen. God, she needed some coffee—with a decent splash of brandy. Flipping on the light, she set about filling the maker with a filter and fresh dark roast ground coffee. She turned to get a mug from the cabinet and spotted the folded paper on the counter next to the phone.

Hope sprang to life in her chest, but Calista gritted her teeth and squashed the giddy sensation. Squaring her shoulders, she eyed the simple, white note. It’s a Dear Jane letter. Not a declaration of undying love.

She reached for it, held it in her fingers while longing and doubt grappled for control of her emotions. How many times had she stood in a similar situation, waiting for some type of confirmation of her worth as a person, that she did indeed deserve to be loved? Steeling her nerves, she opened the note.



Calista-

Restaurant called. Had to go in. We’ll talk later.

Andy



She sucked in a deep breath. His message had been short and to the point—like ripping off an adhesive bandage strip. Just as she’d expected. Dropping the paper on the counter, she turned to get a mug from the cabinet.

Whatever.



***



Andy strode from the walk-in cooler, his arms laden with catfish, shrimp, and lobster, which had been steamed an hour earlier. With all the chaos, he hadn’t realized the dinner crowd would be arriving in less than an hour until Rosella had alerted him. Why his head chef had decided to go all diva on everyone, Andy had no clue—and neither did anyone else at the restaurant.

When he’d arrived at six that morning, his Sous Chef met him at the door. “It was like the dude just snapped,” Rosella told him. She’d waved her hand toward the kitchen. “Set the place on fire and just hauled ass. Jimmy helped me put the flames out, and then I called you.”