Chapter 1

ChapterOne

Spokane, Washington

“Jessamine Rosemary Goode?”

Jesse glanced at the man’s outstretched hand and kept walking. Her boss didn’t put up with tardiness, and she wasn’t about to lose her job because a bill collector decided to track her down outside her apartment building. It had already been a rough morning. Her kitchen faucet had literally shot off its base, and her kitchen was now decorated with wet towels.

“Excuse me, are you—?”

“Nope,” Jesse answered, walking faster and not making eye contact. She gripped her rolled apron in her hand.

The man stood next to a blue sedan. She’d detected the rental sticker in the car’s window.

Seeing the bus, she jogged toward it and hopped on. Only when she found a seat did she turn her attention back down the sidewalk. She couldn’t make out much of his face, but the man watched the bus.

Mrs. Candy, as the kids in the building called her because of the jar of hard candy, she kept by her door for them, came down the sidewalk with her walker. A plastic grocery bag hung from one of the handles. The man instantly turned to offer his help.

Jesse leaned her head to watch the show, but the moving bus forced the scene out of view. Too bad. Mrs. Candy would probably try to throw her walker at him for treating her like she was helpless.

“Tough old bird,” Jesse muttered with a laugh. She’d been on the other end of that woman’s sharp tongue more than once.

The bus only went a few blocks before stopping to let her off. Normally she wouldn’t waste a ride, but she didn’t need Mr. Bill Collector following her.

A restaurant called The Bulb Tavern might not sound like a strict place to work, but the owner had no problem firing people for even the slightest infraction. Usually, she would have told Robert to shove the job where the sun didn’t shine, but the truth was she made more in tips on the weekends than she would from working a hundred hours a week anywhere else.

Plus, being a waitress made her feel normal.

Twinkly fairy lights surrounded the wooden bar and draped across the ceiling. During the day, they were white, but as the evening wore on, they’d start slowly fading through a spectrum of colors. A waitress once commented that she felt like they worked under a Christmas tree, and Jesse could not get the description out of her head.

Jesse tied the half-apron around her waist as she walked through the empty restaurant. They didn’t open for another ten minutes. Seeing the blue rental car pulling up outside, she frowned.

“Did you clock in?” Robert asked, coming from his back office. He tapped his naked wrist to indicate a watch.

“On my way,” Jesse answered, not breaking stride. She would hate to forget and miss out on that two dollars and ten cents an hour come payday. Thank goodness for tippers.

“We need side salads,” he said.

“Always do,” Jesse mumbled under her breath.

Out of habit, she started to pull her name tag out of her apron and then stopped. She again looked outside to see the man getting out of the car. He stared up at the restaurant sign above the door.

Seeing the hostess in the wait station, she said, “Paula, do me a favor. If some guy comes in asking for me, tell him you have no clue who he’s talking about.”

Paula wore too bright a shade of red lipstick and looked like she was perpetually bored. “Stalker?”

“I wish,” Jesse answered. She went to a box that had discarded name tags from past employees and dug around inside. “Bill collector.”

“Hate them,” Paula said. She stopped on her way to the hostess stand and turned around to give Jesse a strange look. “I hate rom-coms too. It gives me a false sense of hope that someday I’ll fall in love when I know I’m unlovable.”

“Um, okay?” Jesse frowned at the impromptu confession. Those kinds of weird comments have been happening quite a bit lately. Last night, her neighbor had cornered her in the hallway to discuss his mother’s hysterectomy. Jesse had been trapped for an hour holding a bag of groceries.

She pulled out a couple of tags, discarding the names of Joe and Marge before settling on the third. She pinned it to her shirt. “Hello, my name is Rita.”

Nina heard her as she went to punch in at the time clock and laughed. “I want to play. Hand me one of those.”

Jesse tossed Marge at her.

Catching it, Nina laughed harder. “Marge, here to service you.”

“Dirty.” Jesse clocked in.

“Well, Marge is a bad girl.” Nina grinned briefly, and then her expression fell. “My grandma used to tell me I was bad all the time. I guess I grew up to prove her right.”

Jesse just stared at her. Nina shrugged and started smiling again.

“We need salads,” Jesse pushed the task onto Nina as she went to check the dining room.

“Always do,” Nina answered.

Robert came toward them as she was trying to peek out. “Jess, Paula gave you a single. You’re on section two tonight.”

Jesse nodded, retreating to make a glass of ice water before Robert could tell her about some childhood trauma.

Approaching her section, Jesse nearly tripped as dark eyes met hers. Mr. Bill Collector was cuter than she thought he’d be. Before when they’d crossed paths, she had willfully not looked in his direction for too long.

Cute or not, he wasn’t her usual type. The man’s hair was neatly cut in a short style popular with lawyers and bankers, and he wore slacks with a button-down. Jesse tended to go for the rocker, cheat-with-your-friends, never-lose-your-heart, loser types like Vance. She used to think she wanted a man who made her laugh, played by his own rules, and didn’t need to be told what to do every second of the day. It turns out that combination equaled a charming womanizer who spent more time lying than breathing.

The problem was that no one could lie to her, at least not for any actual length of time. For some reason, if she listened long enough, they confessed every sin they ever committed.

Maybe she needed someone like Bill Collector here—someone good with numbers who filed their taxes on time and who probably did things like play Dungeons and Dragons and was only late because the side quest or whatever went into overtime. It might be interesting, and she was sure she could persuade him to delete her billing account.

Jesse pushed the thought out of her head. She didn’t have time for love, a boyfriend, or whomever she imagined sat at her table.

“Can I get you something else to drink?” Jesse put the water down in front of him and pulled a pen and pad from her apron.

“Hey, I saw you outside,” he answered. “You’re Jessamine, right?”

Nice try, buddy.

Sure, this was a coincidence. Like he didn’t follow her to work.

“Rita.” She tapped the tag with the end of her pen. “Anything to drink, sir?”

“Coffee,” he answered. “Is there a reason—?”

“Coffee. Be right back.” Jesse went to fetch the coffee. Hopefully, this would be the end of his search. Her rudeness would probably be the end of her tip.

A loud clicking noise came from the server station, sounding like the stamping of the time clock on repeat.

“Hey, Jess, were you able to clock in?” Cameron from the kitchen held his timecard, unable to force it into the slot. “I need the hours. My roommate wants to buy tickets to—”

“That’s weird. Go get Robert,” she said, cutting off his story.

Jesse didn’t stop to help him as she grabbed the coffee and returned to the collection agent. When she went to set the drink down on the table, a picture caught her attention. Her family photo stared up at her from the dark finish. The man pointed at the faces. “That’s your sister Lily. Your brother, Dante, and that,” he tapped several times on her younger face, “is Jessamine Goode.”

Jesse frowned and briefly considered making a joke about some long-lost twin, but the words wouldn’t come. She stared at the photo for a little too long. She hadn’t expected to see her siblings—or feel the wave of longing that washed over her. She missed them deeply. It had been a year since they had been together when Lily and Dante had visited her in Spokane.

Two years ago, her siblings had decided to go to Lucky Valley, Colorado, to accept an inheritance from their estranged mother. Jesse couldn’t bring herself to visit them there. The few times she had gotten into the car to drive, her hands had shaken so badly she couldn’t start the engine, and she’d felt nauseous. She wanted nothing to do with their mother. The woman had been dead for about seven years, and the thought of going to Colorado to deal with the estate caused a knot of anger in her stomach.

“I prefer Rita,” Jesse drawled, giving up the charade.

“I prefer Jessamine like the flower.” He smiled. Was he flirting with her? “It’s very pretty.”

“Dude, stop. No one calls me that. It’s Jesse.” She glanced around to check if her boss was watching before adding, “Besides, you say flower. I say poisonous toxin. Pretty to look at but get too close, and the alkaloids can kill you. If you’re not here about the payment for a car I don’t have anymore because someone set it on fire three months ago, why are you hassling me?”

“Someone set your car on fire?” He looked surprised. “That sounds unfortunate.”

“What can I say? I live a fascinating life.” Jesse shrugged. Unfortunate was a mild way of putting it. Her luck hadn’t been the greatest lately. “By your reaction, I take it you’re not a bill collector?”

“No. I’m Malachi Rhodes from MacIver Law in Lucky Valley, Colorado.” He held out his hand. “We’ve spoken on the phone a few times, and then you changed your phone number.”

Jesse didn’t touch him as she arched a brow. His voice sounded familiar, but he didn’t look anything like what she’d imagined. “You’re Malachi, like from the cornfield horror movie Malachi?”

“I still don’t get that joke.” He lowered his hand to the table. “Friends call me Mal.”

“No offense, but you don’t look anything like your phone voice.” It had been over six months since she’d changed her number to stop calls from an ex-one-date who couldn’t handle rejection. Maybe if she’d realized whom she was talking to, she wouldn’t have been so hasty.

He kept smiling. The playful expression reached his eyes. “What does my voice look like?”

“Some gray-haired lawyer with one of those business-in-the-front, party-in-the-back mullets,” she answered candidly.

“So, you’re into gray hair?” He leaned over and pointed toward his temple. “I’ve been working on a few.”

“Who says I’m into you?” Jesse chuckled. “That’s presumptuous.”

“Ouch.” He put his hand over his heart. “You look exactly like your voice.”

“You had a picture.” Jesse pointed at the family photo. “So, Mal Rhodes from MacIver Law? What brings you to Spokane?”

She had a feeling she knew the answer. It would be the same reason why he’d called.

“I’m here on behalf of the estate of Marigold Crawford Goode.” He reached next to him to flip open a leather case. “She left—”

“Nope,” Jesse shook her head.

“Excuse me?” He stopped mid-action.

“Not interested.”

“But—”

“I thought my not showing up to the reading of the will or answering your many, many, many letters would have been hint enough. Or the fact I repeatedly told you as much on the phone.”

“I don’t remember that part of the phone calls.” His smile was a little too charming. “I remember you talking about red nail polish on your toes.”

“Mr. Rhodes, please hear me. I don’t want anything from Marigold Crawford Goode. When I was little, I did. I wanted a mother who gave a damn. Instead, I got a woman who left my siblings and me to starve to death in a car. I don’t care if she had her reasons. We all have our reasons for doing things. Her actions—”

A short whistle sounded, and she glanced toward the bar. Robert stared at her and nodded his head to speed things along.

“Now, if that’s all, I have to get back to work. I’ve been told the salads won’t make themselves.” She made a show of holding her notepad and pen. “You want a sandwich or something? We need to prep for the rush. There’s a bookseller’s convention down the street, and they all come in between their scheduled meetings.”

“We can’t close the matter until you officially refuse—” he tried to explain.

“I officially refuse,” she interrupted.

“What?”

“Everything. I don’t want anything from her. Let Lily and Dante and that other one, Mara, keep it all.”

Apparently, Marigold had another baby after she’d abandoned the first three. Jesse had only talked to Mara a handful of times on video chats. It wasn’t enough to build any meaningful relationship.

Mara had been born in a barn—an actual freaking barn because her dad was a demon-ghost or whatever. Jesse took it to mean he’d been a real bastard. The conversations since her siblings moved had become a little strange. Jesse wanted nothing to do with witchcraft or family magic. Sure, she could admit it was fun to believe in things like hauntings and ghosts, but she didn’t have proof that any of it was real.

Talking to her siblings, it all sounded insane. Jesse wanted normal.

“Actually, yeah,” Jesse decided, “give it to Mara. It sounds like she might need it to pay for therapy.”

“You do know, don’t you? You know who you are. You know what is involved.”

Jesse frowned. What was this man’s problem? Why could no one at the MacIver office take no for an answer?

“Do I know that there’s money involved?” Jesse questioned. “That I’m an heiress, and if I just say yes, all my money problems will disappear? Like that’s going to make up for a lifetime of—”

Another short whistle sounded. Her boss really was a jerk.

Jesse swiped the family photo and shoved it in her apron beside her phone. She didn’t owe him or anyone an explanation. This was her life, and she would live it her way.

“Enjoy your coffee, Mr. Rhodes.” She strode away from the table.

Robert gave her a stern look, and she held her hand up to calm him down.

“I’m not paying you to date,” Robert said as she strode past.

“Going to make salads now,” she lied and hurried into the server station.