Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

JACE

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I walked into Tea of Fortune, but the interior doesn’t disappoint. There are honest-to-God crystal bouquets on the tables, plus a huge Yule star covered in holly. Still, it isn’t the interior that captures my attention. It’s the woman sitting in a booth in the back.

Mary hasn’t gotten any less beautiful, unfortunately, and when she stands, my gaze instantly sweeps over her. She’s wearing a gray, pinstriped skirt suit and a silky purple shirt that hugs her chest. The outfit is professional, but she looks less severe today…no, that’s not right. Less uptight? But that feels wrong too.

Without saying a word, she extends her hand when I reach her. I automatically take it, thankful it’s a socially recognized way to touch her, because I want to touch her. Her grip is firm, not that I’d expect anything less.

She pulls her hand away and returns to her seat, and I suppress a grin when she gestures for me to join her, as though she’s the one who called me here, rather than the other way around. But then, Mary strikes me as a woman who likes to be in charge.

I wonder, again, what she’d be like if she dropped that control in the bedroom.

Even though she is everything I never wanted in a woman—stiff, formal, tightly wound—I see something lurking beneath the surface that intrigues me. It’s as if all her control is just a front, a curtain that could be pulled back to reveal the real Mary.

I’d like to see her.

Which makes this conversation about my record so much harder.

Except she drops a bombshell before I can roll out any of the lines I’ve been practicing in my head.

“You sensed I have an…inappropriate attraction to you. You wanted to let me down easy, but I assure you, there’s no need. I’m perfectly capable of controlling myself.”

I’m so stunned, the only thing I can do is start laughing, which is clearly not the reaction she was expecting.

“You think this is a joke?” she chokes out and starts sliding out of her seat.

The last thing I want is for her to think I’m making fun of her, so I reach over and place my hand on hers. “Mary. No. Let me explain.”

She stills, but for some reason I don’t pull my hand away. I like the way hers feels beneath mine, soft and small yet strong.

“I’m flattered.”

Her face flushes.

“You’re a beautiful woman, Mary,” I say, my voice huskier than I’d intended, because her “inappropriate” attraction must be heavy on her mind if she blurted that out the moment she saw me. The idea that she’s been fantasizing about me doing God-knows-what to her slides under my skin. I like the notion of it a little too much. While I’d suspected she appreciated what she saw when she met me yesterday, I figured it was the same as walking past a Lamborghini. Sure, it catches your eye, but it’s not practical. I’m not practical for a woman like Mary O’Shea—especially since I’m more like a decade-old Dodge Ram truck than an expensive sports car—even before she considers my ex-con status.

I swallow, then force myself to say, “That’s not why I asked you here.”

Her face flushes a deeper pink, and suddenly the cool, collected woman I’ve known looks like a deer caught in the lights of an oncoming semi. I hate that I put that look on her face, and I’m thankful we’re on opposite sides of the table, because otherwise I’d be tempted to do something stupid, like take her in my arms and tell her she has nothing to apologize for. That I’m attracted to her too.

She continues to stare at me, clearly caught between fight or flight, and flight wins out. She makes a mad scramble to get out of the seat, but her foot gets caught on something under the table. Giving her foot a hard jerk, she inadvertently rattles the vase full of crystals at the far end of the table, spilling several onto the wood surface.

Her eyes gape at it, her cheeks stained with humiliation.

“Mary,” I say, holding her gaze. “Please stay.”

I still need to tell her about my past, but it’s easy to convince myself that it can—and should—wait. That she’s anxious, and I’m the one who caused her anxiety. That I need to soothe her before throwing her for another loop.

Which is all true, but there’s another certainty buried beneath it. I like that she doesn’t look at me in disgust. That I feel like a human being in her presence, and not a mass of soiled garbage.

Unfortunately, that’s about to change, and I’m not eager for it to.

She’s still on the edge of her seat, peering at me as though trying to decide what to do, when an older woman approaches the edge of our table. She’s wearing a cream-colored dress decorated in a pattern of pie slices, something that would have delighted Mrs. Rosa. Her hair is a bright yellow—like the color of sweet corn, not blond—and she looks to be in her late seventies.

“Mary, my dear!” she exclaims, clasping her hands in front of her chest. “Tina said you were here.” Then her gaze turns to me, her smile stretching wider. “And who’s this fine young man?”

Mary’s mouth opens and closes, and she looks like she wants to crawl under the table and gnaw off her stuck foot so she can flee.

I lift my hand from hers and turn to face the newcomer.

“Hi. I’m Jace Hagan,” I say, extending my hand, “Mary’s son Aidan’s buddy.” It sounds ridiculous, just like I meant it to. I was hoping it would get Mary to relax, if only slightly, but her back is ramrod straight.

A sage look fills the older woman’s eyes. “Some people might think you’re too old to be friends with a six-year-old boy, but I believe there are no limitations to friendship.” Then she takes my hand. “I’m Dottie Hendrickson. I’ve known Mary since she was captain of the debate team in high school.”

I’m not surprised to hear that Mary was captain of her high school’s debate team, but I hold back a smile because she looks even more embarrassed than she did ten seconds ago.

“I only met Mary yesterday, so you’ve got the advantage.”

Dottie’s gaze shifts to the crystals splayed on the table. “Jace, dear, would you slide those over to me? They practically jumped out of their container,” she says with obvious delight, “which means I simply must do a crystal reading of your auras.”

“Dottie,” Mary finally says, “we don’t need our auras read.”

“Speak for yourself,” I say, flashing her a grin. Trying again to get her to relax. “I’ve been in Asheville three years and still haven’t had my aura read.”

Dottie lowers onto the other side of the booth, forcing Mary to scoot over and make room for her. If her discomfort is noticed, it isn’t mentioned. Instead, Dottie picks up a pale blue crystal and holds it up to her eye as she stares at me. She shakes her head in consternation, then picks up a pale yellow one. The whole spectacle should look ridiculous, but it doesn’t.

As she lowers the yellow crystal, she lets out a soft sigh. “Your aura is tinged with sadness and pain. You’ve been through so much trauma in your life. I’m sorry.”

I freeze, wondering how this woman could know anything about me, before I remember this is a parlor trick, a gimmick for entertaining tourists.

She looks at me through a pink crystal next, and whatever she sees—presumably a pink version of me—makes her brighten. “Oh, but I can see it’s easing, and a new joy is taking root.” She lowers the rock. “It’s still quite new and vulnerable, so be careful, Jace. Don’t let it fade away.”

Now it’s my turn to want to flee or hide.

Mary shoots me an apologetic look.

“Now you, Mary,” Dottie says, turning to face her. Only she doesn’t use a crystal to look at her—she just cups Mary’s cheek and looks deeply into her eyes. “Glenn lacks imagination, the foolish boy, but you have a very bright future ahead of you—full of love and happiness. You just need to let it in.”

Mary squeaks out, “How do you know that? You didn’t use a crystal or tea leaves.”

Dottie gently pats her cheek. “Because I know your heart, dear, and that’s the most important knowledge of all. Now, if you need anyone to watch your delightful son, you let me know. I’m always available.” She lets Mary’s hand drop and gets to her feet. Smiling at both of us, she says, “Your lunches will be right out.” And she walks away before we can object that we haven’t ordered anything. Then again, I have a feeling she knows that.

“What just happened?” I ask with a nervous laugh. Dottie’s aura reading has left me feeling naked and vulnerable, but then I suppose Mary feels the same way.

“I’m so sorry,” she says in a gush. “Dottie’s an old family friend, and I’ve been meaning to see her. When you mentioned meeting in person, this place popped into my head, but I should have known she’d pull something like this…”

“Read our auras?”

“And our tea leaves, and possibly our palms.” She shudders. “And who knows what she’ll send out for lunch. I think she actually buys into all that woo-woo stuff.”

“My grandmother believed in tea readings,” I say. “But she couldn’t read them herself. She had a neighbor lady do it.”

She tilts her head, studying me. Her face and neck aren’t as red now, but a tinge of pink remains. I have an insane urge to reach up and cup her cheek like Dottie did.

“Do you believe in tea readings?” she asks. It’s obvious she doesn’t, but there’s no condescension or amusement in her tone.

I shrug. “Nana did, and whether the readings were actually accurate or she made them fit her preconceptions, I’ll never know.” The corners of my mouth tip up. “But I guess that doesn’t really answer your question. Let’s just say I’m a skeptic.”

“So you didn’t come to Asheville for the”—she waves her hand in a circle—“the woo-woo?”

“No,” I say, grinning through an uncomfortable surge of memories. “I came for the construction jobs.”

She nods. “I suppose that makes sense. There’s a lot more construction here now than before I moved away for college.”

“So you left for college and never came back?”

“Until a month ago,” she says, playing idly with the pink crystal. I suspect she doesn’t realize she’s doing it, and the sight of her fingers caressing it sends a rush of blood through me. “I considered moving back after my parents died in a car accident. My youngest sister was still in high school, but our middle sister was living at home, so it made sense for her to take care of Molly.” Her shrug is belied by the way she averts her gaze. “Besides, I would have had to drop out of school. It wouldn’t have been right to uproot Molly and drag her to Charlottesville.”

It all seems practical, yet I can tell there’s more to it. I don’t press, even if I’m curious. “My father died when I was twenty, but my sister was older. Losing him was hard, and it had a profound impact on me. I can’t imagine what it would have been like to lose both my parents at the same time.”

Her gaze drops to the table, and she jerks her hand away from the crystal, as if burned. “It was the most devastating experience of my life.”

“Even more than your husband walking out?” The question is out before I can stop myself, and I’d give anything to reel it back in.

Her head jerks up, fire in her eyes. “How did you—”

“Butterfly Buddies,” I say apologetically. “They give us information about the child we’re matched with so we know what’s going on in their life.” I grimace. “I’m sorry. That was way out of line.”

Her lips flatten, and she studies the rock again. “No. Glenn walking out wasn’t nearly as earth-shattering for me as losing my parents. It was as if someone had finally opened the door of a house that had been locked for years, and fresh air swept in. I could breathe again.” Surprise fills her eyes. “I’ve never admitted that to anyone before.”

I give her a half smile.

“It feels wrong to be glad about it,” she says. “Aidan doesn’t understand why Glenn left, and I can’t find it in me to tell him his father didn’t want him anymore.” Her voice breaks, and tears fill her eyes. “Glenn didn’t say it in so many words, but he considers him defective now. And having a defective child isn’t good for his image.”

Her words stoke my anger at her worthless ex, but I take slow breaths to rein it in. “He’s better off without him, but I understand your predicament. Aidan’s a smart kid. He’ll see it for what it is—abandonment.”

She gasps, as if caught off guard, and then shakes her head woefully. “Sorry. I know that’s what he did, but it’s such a brutal word.”

“Agreed. What he did was brutal.” My voice softens. “I thought you would be a fan of the truth.”

A derisive chuckle escapes her lips. “I used to think so too. Lately…” She shrugs, but it looks more like an act of defeat than indifference. “Is it lying if you do it to yourself?”

I feel her opening to me, unfurling like a flower, and God, I don’t want to do anything to interrupt this or to fuck it up. But this isn’t why I asked to see her. The deeper we get into conversation, the harder it will be to tell her about my past.

I’m about to launch into my rehearsed speech when a woman appears next to our table holding a tray of plates. It’s a different waitress from the one who was standing by Mary’s table when I arrived. Her nametag reads Josie.

“I have your lunch,” she says. “You must be very special, because Dottie doesn’t do this for just anyone.”

“Well,” I said in a serious tone, “Dottie has known Mary since she was captain of the debate team.”

Josie narrows her gaze on Mary. “You don’t look old enough to have gone to school with Dottie.”

Mary starts to respond. From the horrified look on her face, she’s probably about to tell Josie she’s not that old, but I interrupt and say, just as seriously, “It’s amazing what Botox can do these days.”

Josie studies me for a few seconds before giving Mary a weighing look. Apparently satisfied, she nods and starts to unload three small plates of tiny sandwiches from her tray. The plates are handmade with words painted on the edges in fancy scrollwork.

“This is a lot like Alice in Wonderland ,” Josie says. “Only none of them will make you grow taller or shorter.” In all seriousness, she adds, “But Dottie says she’s working on that.”

Mary gives me an is this woman for real? look, and I suppress a laugh.

“Well, I , for one, am glad to hear that,” I say.

Josie looks me up and down, examining me with a serious expression. “Yes, I guess you’re tall enough.”

A young woman walks through the door at the front of the teahouse and stops in her tracks, her three friends ramming into her back as she shouts, “Oh, my God! It’s Josie !”

Her friends start to squeal with excitement.

“Sorry,” Josie says. “Gotta go.” She heads toward the woman and her friends, who shriek even louder, carrying on like Josie’s some kind of celebrity.

“What the hell was that ?” I ask, turning around to watch the server lead them to an empty table.

“Forget that ,” Mary says, her gaze on the spread of food on the table. “What is this ?”

Each of the plates contains four one-inch-by-one-inch sandwiches. The offerings on the first plate look like they consist of cream cheese and avocado on white bread. The note says “calm.”

Another plate has tiny sandwiches that smell like fish with a note that says “luck.”

But it’s the sandwiches on the third plate that catch my attention, if only because both the bread and the filling are bright red. The note reads “cleansing.”

The waitress I saw with Mary earlier walks past, and Mary flags her down. “Tina!”

Tina walks over, her gaze lingering on me long enough to fully assess me before she turns her attention to Mary. “Aww…Dottie gave you her special.”

“Is this the appetizer course?” Mary asks, sounding dismayed.

“Nope. It’s the main.” Tina shrugs with a whatcha gonna do face. “Tiny cakes come out next.” She frowns as she looks down at the table. “This was supposed to come with tea. I’ll go get it for you.”

She starts to walk away, and I call after her, “And some water?”

She lifts a hand in acknowledgement.

“So,” I say, knowing I’ll be starving as soon as I walk out the door. “We just pick them up and eat them? There aren’t any other plates. Or silverware.”

“Jace,” Mary says, guilt washing over her face. “I’m so sorry. I heard they were serving lunch. I had no idea…”

“Hey, it’s an experience,” I say with a sly grin. “What do you say we try them at the same time.”

“It’s a deal.”

“Which one do you want to start with first?”

“Calm,” she says instantly.

I laugh and pick up one of the calm squares, lifting it to eye level. Mary does the same, and I bump my sandwich into hers. “To new experiences.”

Something flickers in her eyes, and then she smiles. “To new experiences.”

We both stuff the squares into our mouths at the same time, and I’m amazed by the flavors bursting on my tongue. The look on Mary’s face says she’s experiencing the same thing.

“That was not what I was expecting,” I say once I’ve swallowed. “I could eat like ten more of those.”

“And that might equal one sandwich,” she says with a small smile. “But you’re right. It was good.”

“Which one should we try next?” I ask.

She lifts one from the plate labeled luck to her nose and makes a face, then sets it back down. “I’m not so sure about this one.”

“You have to try it. They’re so small it’s barely a bite,” I tease.

Tina arrives with an honest-to-God teapot and two mismatched china teacups. It’s like Mary and I are in nineteenth-century England.

“Um, do you have any mugs?” I ask in a hopeful tone.

A playful grin lights up Tina’s face. “No. You’ll have to put your pinky out like the rest of us.”

Mary hides an irrepressible grin behind her hand, and it strikes me that she’s letting her guard down. Given what I still need to tell her, I’m not sure whether that’s a good thing.

Tina sets a teacup in front of each of us, giving me the one with pink roses while Mary gets a more generic blue pattern. “You have to drink everything in your cup so one of us can read the leaves. Dottie was very specific about that.” She looks over her shoulder, then leans closer and whispers, “Just don’t let Josie do it. Her readings are famously dark.”

“You’re kidding,” Mary says. “Don’t people get fortune readings looking for good news?”

“You’d think, right? She’s actually developing a bit of a following for it. People come in specifically to hear the bad things she has to say.”

Hence the squealing earlier.

A couple of tables away, two preschoolers begin throwing crystals on the floor while their mothers continue a conversation about where to take the best Pilates class. The next crystal that’s thrown hits a customer a table over.

The wounded woman turns around, rubbing the back of her head. When she sees the mothers are still deep in conversation, she snaps, “Excuse me.”

The kid chucks another crystal and bonks the woman again, this time on the forehead.

Now livid, the woman jumps up out of her chair and taps the shoulder of the mother closest to her, a woman with a long blond ponytail. “Excuse me!”

The blond-ponytail woman looks up at her with scorn. “Did you really just tap me?”

“Your tyrant assaulted me with a crystal!” She points to the red lump that’s beginning to form on her forehead.

“My little Apple would never do anything of the sort!” blond ponytail insists, just as her daughter throws another crystal that whacks the poor woman on the cheek.

“Oh shit,” Tina groans, “I better handle this,” and hurries over to intervene.

“You have to admit the kid has good aim,” I say under my breath.

To my surprise, Mary chuckles. “That she does.”

She picks up the teapot and fills my cup half full, then does the same to her own.

I’m more of a coffee guy, but I pick up my cup and take a sip, surprised to find it’s not half bad. Then I gesture to the plate of fishy sandwiches. “I think we were about to luck.”

Mary chokes on her tea, spraying it on the table and my lower arm. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry.”

I grab a napkin and wipe off my arm, trying not to laugh when I realize what she thought I’d said. “What got you so choked up, Mary?”

She looks mortified, so I pick up the “lucky” sandwich and take a slow bite. Her eyes are watching my lips, and her skin flushes again.

I shouldn’t do this. Hell, the moment I sat down, she told me she has an “inappropriate” attraction to me. Why am I tormenting her?

Of course, I know exactly why, and I’m venturing into very dangerous waters.

The mother of the tyrant is now screaming at the assaulted woman, and Mary’s eyes grow huge.

“I saw a food truck in the parking lot down the street,” I say. “Want to check it out?”

“God, yes,” she says in a rush as she digs in her purse and pulls out her wallet. She lobs a twenty on the table, grabs her coat, and stands. “Let’s go.”

Then she bolts for the door as if Apple were hurling crystals at her.

When I get outside, she’s struggling to get her arm in the sleeve of her coat, so I help her slip it on. Once finished, I realize she’s looking up at me in wonder.

“Let me guess,” I say, trying to hide my irritation. “Glenn never helped you with your coat.”

Her gaze drops to the sidewalk.

“Excuse me for saying so, but it sounds like Glenn’s a real dick.”

She meets my gaze, surprising me when she bursts out laughing. “You’re not the first person to tell me that since I’ve moved back to Asheville.”

I’m about to reach for her hand, but I stop myself. This isn’t a date. I’m on the verge of telling her I’m an ex-con, for fuck’s sake. Something I should have told her half an hour ago, and should definitely tell her now, but she says, “Come on. I only have a half hour left, and I’m starving.”

We head down to the food truck, which is serving street tacos. As we look over the menu displayed on the side of the truck, I ask her what she’s thinking.

“That I should never have suggested Tea of Fortune for lunch.”

I laugh, and as she turns to look at me, the wind catches her cropped hair, blowing several strands across her face. I shove my hands into my pockets to keep from sweeping the locks behind her ear.

On the off chance she doesn’t lose her mind when she finds out about my past, I need to make sure I keep our relationship aboveboard. There’s Aidan to consider, after all. “I meant what are you thinking about for lunch?”

“Oh,” she says. “Fish tacos.”

“Okay.” I approach the window and order for both of us.

After I pay, I join her at the side of the truck, where she’s standing with her arms wrapped over her chest.

“You didn’t have to buy my lunch. I would have gotten it.”

I laugh. “You already paid enough when you dropped that twenty for a few bites of food and a sip of tea.”

“Don’t forget the entertainment,” she said, her brow rising.

“How could I?” I ask with a grin, staring into her hazel eyes. I could look at Mary all day and never get tired of it. But I’m back in dangerous territory, because she’s looking at me like she wants to kiss me. And damn, if she did, I’m not sure I could walk away.

Tell her. You asked for this meeting so you could tell her.

“Mary,” I say, more nervous than I’ve been in a very long time. “Mary, there was a reason for me asking to meet with you.”

Some of the light in her eyes dims. “Of course. What did you want to discuss?”

“My past.”

She still looks confused. “You mean your nephew?”

I take a breath and shove my hands in my pockets again. “Kind of.” Then I shake my head. “But not really. I want to talk to you about why he’s no longer in my life.”

Her lips part. “Were you in an accident together? Is that how he died?”

It’s my turn to be confused. “What?”

She thinks Ben’s dead?

The cashier calls out my number, and I pull my hands out of my pockets in frustration. I’m the one who started this conversation—I can’t stop it now. But first I grab the baskets of food plus the two bottles of water I ordered and gesture for her to sit at an open picnic table.

Her skirt makes it difficult for her to sit on the bench, so she perches on the end. I sit opposite her and place her basket and water on the table before getting my own lunch situated.

“Ben’s not dead, Mary,” I say.

“Ben? Is that your nephew?”

“Yeah.” I shove a hand through my hair. “He’s alive, but I haven’t seen him in six years.”

She frowns. “I don’t understand.”

“My sister cut me out of her life, and that meant losing Ben too,” I say, holding her gaze.

“Why would she do that?” she asks in a whisper, catching on that whatever I’m about to tell her is bad.

“Because I went to prison for three years,” I say. “She refused to communicate with me while I was there, and when I got out, she told me I was dead to her. So I moved to Asheville.”

Her face has paled, making her eyes even more vivid. They look green now—a deep moss green. “You were in prison?” She swallows. “Was it for a white-collar crime? One of those cushy federal prisons?”

“No.” Part of me wants to lie, but she’ll find out, because I know the first thing she’ll do after she walks away from me is pull up my file. Considering that she’s an attorney, she’ll likely have access to documents the general public doesn’t. “I served at Davidson Correctional Center for felony theft.” Forcing myself to hold her gaze, I add, “I stole a car. But North Carolina doesn’t have grand theft auto on their statutes.”

She gets to her feet in one fluid movement. While embarrassment might make her clumsy, it would appear anger gives her grace.

“You’re a convicted felon, and you were with my son ?” Her voice rises, drawing the attention of the people around us.

I stay seated. To stand would make me taller than her, and the last thing I want is for her to feel threatened or intimidated. “I’m not dangerous, Mary. I paid my dues.”

“You paid your dues,” she shouts, “and then you decided to volunteer to work with young children?”

Several men nearby turn their attention to our conversation.

I could protest. I could argue that stealing a car when I was twenty years old doesn’t make me a child molester, but Mary has only just begun to work herself up.

She points her finger at me. “You stay away from my son.”

I hold her gaze and try to hide my disappointment. “Of course.”

“If you come near him again, I’ll have you arrested!”

She’d have no grounds for that, but I don’t argue. There’s no way I can change her mind, so I don’t even try. I’ve learned that the hard way.

Everyone around us is staring at us, at me , and the judgment I’ve always felt since my arrest is magnified tenfold. These people think I’m a child molester, and a few of the men look like they’re about to make sure I’m rendered physically incapable of touching a kid again.

With nothing left to say, Mary turns around and stomps off, and I get up to leave, if only to make sure I walk away unscathed. I hand our untouched food to a homeless couple on the corner, then get the hell out of there before the crowd takes matters into their own hands.

As I leave, I tell myself it’s for the best. I shouldn’t have applied for Butterfly Buddies in the first place. But I feel like my heart has been cut out of my chest and stomped on.