Rachel found the cream on the dining room table, along with the spell book, and a lovely moonstone necklace. The accompanying note from Dagne explained she had picked it up off eBay for her and she was to wear it, as it was her stone and had been blessed, naturally, by Dagne, Goddess of Kitsch.
Rachel was not above kitsch.
She took the cream, moonstone, and spell book upstairs to her bedroom and master bath with the idea of having one last try at ridding herself of the fish smell, please God.
By the time Flynn arrived, she had donned her new dress and boots, had her hair artfully arranged at the nape of her neck with delicate sliver filigree wending through it, and was wearing the moonstone necklace that went very well with her crystal earrings, a combination that, according to the spell book, would bring her harmony.
She didnt know if she had any harmony, but for the first time in a very long time, Rachel felt pretty.
When she opened the door, Flynn smiled broadly and stood back to admire the full length of her. God, he said. Youre bloody gorgeous!
That remark earned him a smile that was at least the wattage of two million candles. Rachel moved aside so he could come in, and as he stepped across the threshold, he leaned forward as if to kiss her lightly, but then thought the better of it and wrapped his arms around her, kissed her more fully as Rachel giggled against his mouth.
Beg your pardon, but you do have that effect on me, he said with a lopsided grin as she laughingly wiped the lipstick from his lips. You look smashing, Rachel.
She laughed, grabbed up her coat. Flynn took it from her hands, held it open for her to slip into, and as she straightened the sleeves of her dress, he nuzzled her neck. That perfume you are wearing it smells a bit different, he murmured against her skin.
Fish? she asked weakly.
More like cake . Whatever is, it certainly has my full attention.
Thats the intent, she said, relieved that it was not fish and appreciative of just how powerful a little bit of vanilla and a scent spell could be. She belted her coat, turned around, and noticed Flynn was looking around the living area of her bungalow. I know, I know, its really cluttered, she said apologetically. Youre probably the neat type, right?
Not exactly, he said. Im never in one place long enough to be one sort or the other.
Why that should make her feel strangely insecure, Rachel wasnt certain, other than the fact that he had used the words never and in one place all in one sentence. But never mind thatshe glanced around, winced a little as she realized what he was seeingbooks and plants were everywhere, dozens of strange knickknacks, a stagnant, half-completed project on a large loom, and crystals hanging in each window to ensure positive energy flow.
It occurred to her that it might be better if they got out of there before he could see the witchcraft stuff in the dining room that might, to the casual observer, make her seem totally wacked.
Ready? she asked, opening the door. She picked up her big bag, slung it over her shoulder. Not exactly a look, but in a previous era of eschewing anything that wasnt made from natural plant fibers, she had given away all her really cool purses.
Ahyes! Flynn said, dragging his gaze from the room to her, and caught the door, held it open for her. He waited for her to lock the door, then took her hand and escorted her to his car.
On the drive to the restaurant, Flynn asked her about Mrs. Gregorys funeral.
Not particularly remarkable as far as those things go, she said. No one came except some of the weaving classSandy, Chantal, Tiffinnae, and Jason and me.
Im sure the old chap was quite touched, Flynn said.
Actually, no, Rachel said with a snort. He seemed more annoyed than thankful, particularly when the pastor began to speak of the afterlife, and Chantal and Tiffinnae answered every point with a hallelujah , or a praise Jesus , or a more generic, mmm-hmm .
I can picture it all quite clearly, Flynn said with a grin.
And then, after the service, the church ladies set up a buffet, and Chantal and Tiffinnae decided we must all stay so that Mr. Gregory wouldnt have to eat alone. We all agreed it was pretty good, she said, but looked at Flynn from the corner of her eye. Everyone except Sandy, of course. Acid reflux, you know. But I had some Turns in my bag just in case, so she managed to choke down two plate-loads.
He laughed heartily at that, and Rachel continued to regale him with the very long list of maladies that had afflicted Sandy, until they reached the restaurant.
The restaurant was in one of the old historic homes that had been turned into an establishment for cozy couples dining with fancy tablecloths and real candles. Rachel had been in lots of places like this, usually as the third wheel in her parents night out. This was the first time, however, she had been invited to such a restaurant by a man who was not related to her, and it gave her a whole new sort of thrill.
They were seated at a small bay window, and Flynn ordered a bottle of wine (a very expensive bottle of wine, ooh-la-la), and when the steward had poured the wine and left, Flynn lifted his glass. A toast. To an intriguingly beautiful woman with brains and compassion for cats and old men and witches.
Rachel beamed, touched her glass to his.
It was really quite nice of you to do that for Mr. Gregory. Flynn nodded sincerely. He didnt strike me as an endearing chap.
Oh, hes not the least bit endearing. Rachel smiledactually, as the afternoon had worn on, shed been rather irritated with the old coot. I didnt intend to have a whole caravan attend her funeral but when he called and left a message, there had been something in his voice (And there had been something in his voicethe pitch of loneliness, maybe. Or desperation. Who knew?) And he wasnt very glad to see me when I went to his house. He wasnt going to let me in. He said I was just an instructor, not a friend or neighbor.
Sodding bastard, Flynn said cheerfully.
Rachel laughed. But he finally let me in, and once he did, I think he was glad that I had come. She paused again, looked at the candle flame. I cant imagine just how deep that ache must reach, you know? It must feel as if an organ has been wrenched right out of you, she said, and damn it all to hell if she didnt feel herself tearing up for the thousandth time that day as an image of her father flashed across her mind. Talk about sodding bastards and now he was really going to piss her off by dying.
Before she could hide the sorrow, Flynn reached across the table and covered her hand with his. Yes, I would think it must, he said softly, and squeezed her hand. But I cant imagine this distress is just for Mr. Gregory, is it?
No she said, shaking her head with a self-conscious smile. Youre on to me. She drew a deep breath, gained her composure as Flynn laced her fingers through his. My dad has colon cancer, and it keeps coming back. We never know from one month to the next what the prognosis is because it seems to change all the time. And when Mr. Gregorys wife died I just cant seem to stop thinking about how it all might end for my parents, or how devastating it would be to lose someone who has been part of your entire life, from start to finish. She bit her lower lip to keep tears in the back of her eyes, told herself to get a goddamn grip.
But Flynn smiled sympathetically and said, For what its worth, I rather think that real love between two people is, by its very nature, quite devastating. And I rather suspect that when its time to face that long good night, if one hasnt felt loves devastation in one form or another, then perhaps one hasnt known true love at all. Thats the payoff, I suppose.
The profundity of that statement and the elegance with which he had said it astounded her. Rachel swallowed back any tears. That was beautiful, she said sincerely. And youre right .
He flashed that lopsided grin at her.
It sounds as if you speak from personal experience, she added, which was the wrong thing to say, apparently, because a strange look clouded Flynns face. His smile faded as he looked at her, and it almost seemed as if he was seeing someone else altogether.
Actually, no, he said, after an awkward moment. Ive certainly had my share of love affairs, I suppose, but I can honestly say Ive never been devastated. He sat back, seemed to consider that a moment more.
She thought shed just leave that alone for the time being. What about your folks? Are they well? she asked before sipping her wine.
Oh, quite, he said with a chuckle. They operate a small B and B in Butler Cropwell. A Scottish B and B, mind you.
Scottish?
Mmm. Its all the rage, you know. Mum has a sign hanging out front Cead mile failte
A hundred thousand welcomes, Rachel said.
Flynn blinked. You knew that, did you?
Lets just say Ive been to the U.K. a few times.
An Anglophile, eh? Then perhaps youd like my parents little B and B. Glen Farley, its called, yet another name fabricated for the Scots-loving Americans. In fact, he said, his eyes shining with amusement, I should take you there to test their theoryto see if you, by sole virtue of being American, are so charmed that you actually believe yourself to be in Scotland, and therefore are so filled with delight that you dance a jig. Scottish jigs, of course, are performed Thursday evenings. Uncle Harry dabbles in bagpipes, and my father fancies himself quite the danceror jig artist, as he prefers.
Youre joking! Rachel exclaimed gleefully.
Why in Gods name would I joke about something as very painful as that? he deadpanned, and casually sipped his wine.
With a laugh, Rachel asked, What of your siblings? Where are they?
Ah, my siblings, he said, and told her about his family as they dined on shrimp-stuffed mushrooms for their first course. His sister was married and had two perfectly horrid children. His brother was a banker, which, Flynn said, his parents considered a proper occupation.
Dont they consider a computer programmer to be a proper occupation?
Flynn smiled enigmatically. Its not quite as grand as they had hoped. In truth, I always wanted to be a homicide investigator, the sort portrayed in the old Humphrey Bogart movies. But alas, that was not on my parents list of suitable occupations and I was steered in another direction.
So what would they consider a suitable occupation?
Prince consort, he said. And what about your family?
Rachel gave him the usual, well-rehearsed rundown. Her father and mother had been together since they were teens, but were currently in marriage therapy as they tried to sort through years of stuff.
Sounds perfectly awful, Flynn said as the waiter cleared the appetizers.
You cannot begin to even imagine, Rachel quipped with a roll of her eyes, and explained to Flynn how her father was a self-made man, had built a fortune in freight, but how that fortune came with a price for their family.
Flynn listened intently, nodding thoughtfully as she spoke, offering insights here and there, but without sounding superior or patronizing.
Siblings? he asked as the main course of mahi-mahi was served.
Rachel laughed. Two older sisters. She told him about Robin and Rebecca, and a little about their lives, but leaving out, at least for the time being, the part about them being beautiful and successful and nothing at all like their baby sister, Miss Fortune.
They talked easily and openly over dinner, like a pair of old friends. They had both traveled a good deal. And they were both prolific readers and had, on their bookshelves, some of the same authors, although Flynn liked thrillers and Rachel had a definite taste for character literature.
Their conversation was so easy that Rachel even talked a little about her interest in metaphysics, astrology, Buddhism, and a host of other things she typically reserved for several months out when meeting someone new. But Flynn took it all in stride, and while he did not subscribe to the same theories, he was open about them, asking honest questions and listening to her with interest. When the subject rolled around to astrology, and Flynn said he was bora under the Pisces sign with Cancer rising, Rachel thought shed died and gone to heaven. There could not be a better match for her than that, and she should knowshed studied her birth chart enough times to know.
That evening felt nothing short of magical, either the conjured type or pure coincidence. Rachel could count on one hand the number of times shed made such a connection with another person, so quickly, and so strongly. Not once did she feel self-conscious, or inelegant. Not once did she have that feeling that he thought she was a wacky broad tilting at windmills.
And Flynnwow. She had a growing and abiding sense of respect for Flynn. He was witty, and unerringly cheerful. He was respectful and thoughtful and considerate and very smart, and really just delicious to look at.
He asked her how she had landed on ancient British history in her schooling, and she confessed a fascination with kings and queens and knights and romance. The medieval period was such a brutal time, yet such a romantic time, too.
As to romance, Flynn said, how are you on that?
She laughed. Im definitely okay with it.
He smiled, propped his elbows on the table and leaned forward, his gaze intent. Do you prefer the subtle approach? Such as candlelight dinners, and flowers, and vintage wine?
Ooh that sounds excellent, she murmured. What other romance is there?
Well, there is the purely Neanderthal approach, of coursea bit rougher in the wooing, but in terms of instant gratification, it cant be beat.
She laughed a little, leaned forward to match his intent gaze, and said, With a good bottle of wine, I could be persuaded.
Flynns brows lifted in surprise. Smashing! he said with a deep smile. All right, how about the metrosexual romance?
The what ? she asked, wrinkling her nose with a laugh.
Clearly you are not versed on the metrosexual option. This romance encompasses the finer points of both your subtle and Neanderthal romances. For example, a suave, debonair chap such as myself may begin his romance with dinner and wine. But in the course of it, he begins to notice things, he said, his gaze falling to her mouth. Like how her lips look as if they were carved from coral, or how her eyes are the exact color of the Pacific Ocean. Or perhaps, he said, reaching across the table to take her hand, he cant help notice the curve of her waist into her hip, and that curve makes him think of the little hollow just above her bum that he longs to kiss, or how she might arch her back when she enjoys lovemaking.