Thirty Days: Part One (11 page)

“Go eat. Love you.”

“Ditto.”

***

The yellow sign was obvious. Nobody could miss such a huge and boring display. Asher is sitting at a booth in the corner of a large open space. My first thoughts are that Leyton’s is a sandwich house of sorts. This pleases me. I slide my bag and then myself into the seat opposite my lunch companion.

“I’m here,” I announce grandly.

She giggles. Why she finds me so funny, I have no idea, but she does. “I can see that.”

“What’s good to eat here?”

“Everything on the menu, except for the BLT special. Do not get the BLT special.” She points to the image on the menu.

“Right, no special thing. What are you having?”

Her nose scrunches. “Probably an egg, lettuce, and tomato sandwich.”

“Sounds good. Get that by two.” I hand her a ten-dollar note.

She sits there staring at me with money clasped between two fingers.

“What?”

“Am I your waitress?”

“Umm. Well, I guess you are. Trust me, I’m accident prone. The less amount of standing and navigating I do, the better.”

“What an odd thing to say.”

“I’m pretty odd. Sandwich time, woman. Chop, chop.”

Asher rolls her eyes before waving the money in my face. “I’m keeping the change.”

“You do that, after you buy me a juice.”

“You won’t have enough for a juice and a sandwich.”

“Really?”

“No.” She shakes her head.

“Well, blow me.” I pass her another five-dollar bill. “There you go, princess.”

Asher laughs with an evil tone. “A ten would have covered it, but thanks for the extra.” She winks.

Asher is my type of awesome.

“Lunch is served,” she announces, placing our orders onto the table. We are not even halfway through probably the best egg, lettuce, and tomato sandwich I’ve ever eaten, when her mobile starts playing Justin Bieber’s
Baby
.

“Really? Bieber?” I snort while trying hard not to piss myself with laughter.

“What?” Her face glows red.

“I’m so sad for you.”

“Shut up.” She swipes her hand at me.

“Quick, you’d better answer it. It could be Justin calling,” I urge before making kissy faces.

Asher scowls. She’s so therapeutic. “Yes. Right now? I’m on my way,” she says into the mobile before placing it into her bag. “Sorry, Abigail, I have to return to the office. I’m needed.”

I give my best sad face.

“Tomorrow we will do lunch again, okay?”

“Definitely.”

“I think I’m going to like having you around, Abigail.” Scooping up the remainder of her sandwich from the table, she places her bag over her shoulder. “See you back in the office. Try not to be late.”

“I’ll try…but I can’t make any promises,” I call after her as she waves.

Enjoying a moment of solitude, I proceed to scope out the interior of this quaint sandwich shop, one that would probably seat about forty people. It seems quite pleasant so far. The sandwich I’m eating is beyond amazing, the juice is ice cold, and the décor is elegantly done. Cream trimmings, dark chocolate walls, and large gold pots with ferns in them add privacy to different areas.
I think I’m going to like lunch at Leyton’s.
The sound of a ringing bell commands my attention. I hadn’t noticed it on my own entry, but the sheer volume of the noise causes my head to twist in an attempt to get a better look at the door.

“Oh, fuck,” I whisper, sliding down as low as possible in the seat.
It’s him.
I begin chewing with speed. There’s something about Marcus that makes places on my body tingle. Places that don’t need, nor do I want, tingling. My mind is set on staying clear of him for now. Yes, he’s adorable eye candy. Yes, the tasty melt in your mouth kind. But he’s also bad news for Abigail,
The
Hexed.

Slumped down like a sack of potatoes and hiding like a criminal on the run, I hope he doesn’t see me. I’m not ashamed of these actions. My encounter with Marcus this morning was more than enough. If I’d known I’d have such a
moment
today, I would’ve packed a spare pair of underwear as mine ended up soaked through. There is something about this man that tells me to run away and that’s what I intend to do. Suddenly, I hear the sound of a man clearing his throat.

“Are you comfortable eating like that? Or are you looking to see if there’s gum under that table.”

“I’ll take option B, the gum.” I bite my lip, sitting upright. Eyes that call out
‘Never look away’
connect to mine. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?” I ask.

“Always good news first.”

“There is no gum under this table.”

He smiles, amused no doubt that he found me slouched under here. “What’s the bad news?”

“This table will be getting gummed.”

His sculptured lips curl in amusement before he forcefully chuckles.

Oh good God! Don’t do that.
My thighs squeeze together as tight as a boa constrictor’s death hold.
Dad, really? Now? You are doing this to me now? Or is this just part of the hex?

“Want some company?” I notice a wrapped sandwich and can of drink in his hand.

“Umm...well, no, actually. I’m about to go back to the office.”

His eyes light up with curiosity. “I think you do.”

“Really? Can you predict the future, Mr. Magician?”

“Actually, I can. Let me show you.” His head cocks to the side.

“You have my attention.” I fold my hands over each other, placing them on the table as he slides into the bench seat in front of me. Instantly, my heart changes to a more frantic beat, followed by a flock of birds flapping wings in unison, taking flight in the pit of my stomach.

He doesn’t look at me. Instead, he concentrates on the tissue paper covering his lunch. Peeling it away, I see a solid gold ring beside his pinkie finger. I’m immediately disappointed.
He’s married. Of course he is.

Blurting out, “How long have you been married?” causes his eyes to lock with mine and his lips to curve upwards.
Oh God. Why did I say that?
“Sorry, that’s none of my business. I don’t know why I asked.”

He looks down at the ring and then back at me and clears his throat. “Miss McMillian, I’m—”

“Abigail. Just call me Abigail. Or Abi. My friends call me that.” I’m nervous and it’s obvious.

“Abigail, I’m not married. This is my right hand. I think customarily a wedding ring is located on the left ring finger.”

Dumb. How bloody dumb, Abigail.
My cheeks begin to warm.

“Is it hot in here, Abigail?” He’s amused by the effect he has on me. I’m sure of it.

“No,” I mumble.

“Good to know.” He smiles, revealing again his perfectly whitened teeth.

Someone help me, I’m drowning here.
I try so very hard not to watch Marcus devour his food. I’m unsuccessful. Each bite makes me swoon.
I hate swooning women. I hate me right now.

“Are you enjoying the show?” His tone is cocky.

“If you mean watching you hoover your food...then no.”

He chuckles. “Such sass, Miss McMillian.”

“Abi. Just Abi.”

Wiping his hands together, he relaxes back into the chair. “Now I believe I promised to show you my skills?”

My legs cross without consent. The birds are now homed in my belly, flying freely once again, and as I swallow a mouthful of juice, it takes a wrong turn. Coughing and spluttering, my watery eyes cloud my vision.

“Now, now…we drink our liquids, Abigail, we don’t inhale them. Are you okay?”

“Perfectly fine.” My voice strains on the words. We sit silently until my breathing returns to normal and the coughing ceases.

“Welcome back.”

I flip him the bird.

His head shakes in response. “Very charming. How about you give me that hand.”

With no hesitation, I do.

He rolls it over until my palm is upright. Long fingers gently trace along the lines. Goosebumps fill my skin.

“I thought you were a mind reader, not a palm reader.” I’m suddenly breathless.

He grins, his dark eyes searching me—twinkling. “I am.”

My mouth must form an ‘O’ long before noise escapes it.

Strong fingers wrap tightly around my hand. Marcus closes his eyes and peace fills his expression before he sighs.

“Well,” I murmur.

“Turns out I can’t predict the future.” His eyes are wide, gauging my reaction. Contact is lost between us when my hand is gently placed on the table. “Well, this was fun.” He suddenly stands. “I have work to do and so do you. Are you ready?” His hand presents itself, waiting for mine to clasp it.

I’m not.
“I’m going to wait a bit.”

He says nothing, then turns and walks away.

There’s something about this man, in that suit, that causes wicked images to appear in my mind, ones I haven’t had to this extent in a long time. Ones that can never become reality.

Why did he hold out his hand like that? I don’t even know him.

No Control

The work day drags on. It feels like I’ve been sitting at this desk for about fifty years.
End already.
It finally does. As the lift reaches the ground floor, I find Asher waiting for me.

“Well, how was your first day?”

“Long. So very long.”

She giggles. “Well, tomorrow will go quicker, I’m sure. Hey, I was wondering if you would like to have a drink tonight at Rafferty’s? It’s a few blocks from here, but it’s my favourite hangout spot.”

Drinks. With people.
I think not. “Umm—” I say, trying to find a way to decline nicely, but she interrupts me.

“Come on, let’s celebrate your first day here.”

The word ‘NO’ screams in my head, but my mouth betrays me and agrees.

“Good. How about you meet me in an hour?”

“Sure, that can be done. Hang on, it’s nothing fancy, right? Like I don’t have to dress up. An hour’s not a great deal of time with travel involved.”

“No. But you do need to wear something comfy, yet pretty…also no thongs, it’s a bit classy,” Asher says with a smile.

“Classy…comfy. Got it.”

We stride side by side, each step in time to the parking lot and say our goodbyes for now. Why in the world I agreed to a public outing with a co-worker has me both baffled and pissed off. But it’s too late to pull out, I guess.

***

Rafferty’s was just as easy to find as Leyton’s was earlier. Another monstrosity of a sign leads the way.
What’s with these hideous signs?

Three steps lead me into a black and white tiled foyer. Another twelve steps lead to a bar on an upper level. A winding deck wraps around the outside of the building, and ocean waves crash onto a beach, a view so pristine it could have been a magazine picture.

Looking down at my watch, I note the hands read 5:45 p.m. I’m actually early.
Shocked.
The ocean scents waft freely, and a breeze gently flows across my partly naked back. I probably should have brought a coat to go with my knee-length halter dress. But, of course, I never think about things like that.

Approaching the bar, I order my favourite cocktail, a Mudslide. This place is fancy, not your regular beers and spirits only type of establishment.

Sipping slowly, I watch the thunderous waves roll in and crash heavily against the shore. I’ve never been here before. I didn’t even know it existed.
I like it.
The numbers on the clock I just spied above the bar read 6:01 p.m. Asher shouldn’t be too far away. Now who’s late? I relax into the soft backing of the seat and enjoy the colours that begin merging together in the sky. A sunset is imminent. Beeping from inside my bag alerts me to a text message. A number displays, one I don’t recognise.