Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Ouch, is that a subtle way to let me know I won’t be going home with him again tonight?
I refuse to ask. Instead, I take a bite of pork. The sweet glaze melts into smoke, salt, and the tang of apples on my tongue.
“Oh my God,” I mumble around the mouthful. “It’s so good.”
Declan nods, pleased with himself. “Told you. Gloria’s a magician.”
“She is,” I agree and quickly cut another piece of pork.
We eat in companionable quiet for a few minutes, the clink of silverware and low hum of conversation wrapping around us. Eventually, curiosity pushes me to ask, “What about your parents? You said Gloria worked for them. What did they do?”
He sets his fork down, his thumb brushing along the edge of his napkin. “My dad was a craftsman. Metalwork mostly—iron gates, ornate signs, some tools. Things that last centuries when they’re built with care and attention to detail.”
“That’s…fitting.” I stop stuffing my face and tug at the iron key around my neck. “So, you learned to make jewelry from your dad?”
“I learned to make all sorts of things from him. My grandfather was the jeweler, though.” His gaze shifts to the side. “I’d like to get back to making finer pieces, eventually.”
“Talented family,” I murmur, a sudden wash of embarrassment sliding over me. I shouldn’t have shared so many details about my mother or my impoverished childhood.
An awkward silence stretches between us.
He studies me for a long moment before speaking. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed,” he says quietly. “You survived what you had to. That’s something to be proud of.”
I trace the edge of my plate with my fork. “Maybe. But sometimes I hate the way it still defines me.”
“No, it doesn’t.” His lips twist in frustration. “I never would’ve guessed any of that if you hadn’t told me.”
Now I really wish I’d kept my mouth shut.
“I know you don’t think I could possibly understand.” He sweeps one hand in the air toward the door. “I grew up around here and people know me.” His voice drops a notch. “They’re polite now, but for years, a lot of people in this town treated my family like we’d escaped from an asylum.”
He frowns and casts a sideways glance around the small room as if the town’s ghosts might overhear our conversation. “When my sister disappeared, people finally understood the curse was real. My mom spent the rest of her life trying to break it.”
“Did she get close?”
He exhales through his nose. “No. It can’t be broken.”
I tilt my head, studying him. “If someone placed it, someone can break it. Curses are just cause and effect, right?”
Declan just stares at me. Does he think I’m an idiot or has this never occurred to him?
“Even if you’re right,” he says finally, “whoever cast the spell has been dead for centuries.”
“There doesn’t have to be a person.” I lean forward, voice picking up with the thrill of an idea. “There could be a condition, an acknowledgement of a wrong, or maybe some simple action that ends it?”
“Emery,” he says gently, “if that were possible, my family would’ve found it.”
“What if it couldn’t be found until now?” I shoot back.
He raises his eyebrows and his lips tilt into an indulgent smile.
“I’m not saying I’m the reason,” I add, just in case he thinks I’m that full of myself.
He shrugs. “Maybe you are.” At least he sounds sincere and not like he’s mocking me.
“How was everything?” Harper reappears at the edge of the table, too chipper for the room’s energy.
“Wonderful.” I push my plate away, amazed I managed to eat that much while talking about ancient death curses.
“Can I interest you in dessert?” she asks, her gaze bouncing between us.
“Anything chocolate,” I say without hesitation.
Declan chuckles low in his throat.
Harper grins. “We’ve got a blackout cake that’s to die for.” She squeezes her eyes shut like she’s savoring the memory of the last bite that passed her lips.
“Sold,” I say.
“I’ll have coffee,” Declan adds, flashing her his lazy grin. “And I’ll help her with the cake.”
After Harper leaves, I lean over the table, voice light again. “Who said I’m sharing my chocolate cake?”
He mirrors me, elbows braced on the table. “Trust me, you’ll need the help.” His gaze dips for half a second, teeth catching his bottom lip like he can’t help himself.
I glance down and realize my sweater’s gaped open. Heat climbs my neck. I palm the neckline closed and catch him watching me—unapologetically.
“You’re really a boob guy, huh?” I tease, remembering the awed way he’d studied my body this morning.
He shakes his head slowly, that faint smile still playing at the corner of his mouth. “I think I’m just an Emery guy.”
If that isn’t the sweetest damn line. Coming from Declan, anyway. If any other man said that while blatantly checking me out, I’d probably toss my water in his face.