Sympathetic Magic(36)

Oh, who was she kidding? Yes, she liked talking to him…but she also liked looking at him. Way, way more than she should. And she wasn’t going to let herself think about what it had been like to kiss him.

“It’s — ” She’d been about to say that it was nothing, but they both knew that was a lie, didn’t they? “Thank you for having me.”

In that moment, the gleam returned to his eyes, and she realized she’d stuck her foot in it with that comment. Yes, she was sure he would be more than glad to “have” her.

To her relief, the waiter came back with their glasses of sangria in that moment, and Margot was able to cover her embarrassment by taking a long sip of the drink through its straw. Lucas hadn’t been exaggerating; it was marvelous. Who cared that it was more hot chocolate weather outside?

“What do you think?” he asked.

I think I’ve been missing out my whole life. Of course she would never say such a thing out loud, so she only replied, “It’s amazing.”

“I hope Flagstaff will continue to amaze you.”

She had a feeling it would, if Lucas Wilcox had anything to do about it.



* * *



There was something slightly surreal about being here and realizing it was Margot Emory sitting opposite him, right in the middle of his hometown, smack in the center of Wilcox territory…and that she didn’t look out of place at all. He loved watching her, seeing the way her dark hair slipped over her shoulders, watching the way the little amulet at her throat — was that Angela’s work? — twinkled in the light.

She looked like she belonged here. And God, did he want her to belong here. Hadn’t Jerome had enough of her already?

“…around here?” she was saying, and Lucas blinked.

“Sorry, what?”

Her dark eyes narrowed slightly, and he wondered if she could guess what he had been thinking. He hoped not; he was trying the best he could to be casual and suave about all this, and let her form her own conclusions…make her own decisions. “I was asking if Connor’s gallery is around here.”

“Actually, it is.” Lucas pointed at the window in the direction of the alley. “That brick building there with the green door? The gallery is in the front half on the ground floor, and then his apartment was the one directly above on the right. The other apartment he used as his studio. It’s still empty because it needs a lot of renovation before it’s fit for actual occupation.”

“So he can rent it out to another cousin?”

“Probably,” he replied, somewhat surprised she knew that much of the arrangements they’d made. Then again, Margot was an elder, and so Angela must have consulted with her a good bit as to her plans.

“Makes sense,” Margot remarked. “I’m guessing you must have a goodly number of cousins who need lodging.”

“A fair number.” Actually, he’d never really stopped to count, but there were hundreds and hundreds of Wilcoxes in the Flagstaff area. Marie was the one who really kept track of that sort of thing. “I’d imagine those sorts of logistics would even be harder in Jerome.”

A rueful smile touched her mouth before she sipped some more sangria. “”That’s an understatement. There’s not a lot of real estate to go around, obviously. It’s led to people being pretty fanatical about their wills, just so there’s no confusion when it comes time for a property to be handed down.” She paused, her expression faraway and a little sad. Lucas wondered if she was thinking about her own single state, and who her own cottage might go to someday. But then she straightened in her chair and added, “We’ve managed, though. Our territory is nowhere big as yours, of course, but there’s still plenty of room for us to spread out in Cottonwood and Clarkdale and Camp Verde.”

“Or Prescott,” Lucas ventured, then wanted to kick himself. Wasn’t her asshole of an ex-fiancé from Prescott?

If he hadn’t been watching for it, he probably wouldn’t have even noticed the slight hesitation before she said, “Yes, there’s a small branch of the family over there, too.”

The waiter came by with the bacon-wrapped dates then, and Lucas tried to prevent himself from letting out a sigh of relief at the welcome interruption. He waited as Margot selected a date and put it on her own small plate, then took one for himself. Her reaction was all he could have hoped for; she carefully cut the morsel in half, then put one piece in her mouth. Almost at once, her dark lashes swept down over her eyes as she appeared to savor the bite.

“Good?”

“That’s — ” She broke off, seeming to consider the perfect word to use, and said, “Decadent.”