Still, she shook her head. “Nope. No one will know I’m gone. Except Bree, and my landlord when rent time rolls around. Wow, am I ever going to get my ass handed to me for this. I’m guessing a pink slip will be waiting for me when I get back.”
“Bree can stuff those damn scarves and her power trip up her tight, perky ass,” Wanda said on a demonic chuckle. “If your happily-ever-after involves going back to Jersey, I think Marty might be able to help you with a job if you’d be willing to relocate to Buffalo.”
Something lodged deep in her heart shifted a centimeter or two. Just enough to be noticeable. “You’re doing that nice thing again. You don’t even know me. Why would you consider me worthy of a job?”
Wanda shrugged her shoulders and smiled again. “It’s just a vibe I get. No one’s fooled me yet.”
“So what’s your vibe on Jon?” And she didn’t mean the sexy-smexy one. He had more than enough of that to go around. God, he was so delicious she’d considered reconsidering her vow never to become even remotely involved with a man again.
Wanda expelled a long breath, her eyelashes fluttering. “Oh, that man. He’s enough to make me reset my moral compass. If there was no Heath in the picture, I just might feign virginity and throw myself as tribute at his feet. Phew, he’s pretty phenomenal to look at, huh? But I haven’t figured him out yet, to be honest. Something’s just not jiving for me.”
A shiver of fear slithered along Toni’s spine. “Do you think he’s a bad guy?”
“Nope. Not necessarily bad. Not bad at all, in fact. His intentions all outwardly appear to be good. He’s a good host, if you could call whatever it was he cooked up in that big cauldron being a good host. He’s well-mannered and his cottage was adorbs…there’s just something. But don’t worry,” she said on a confident wink. “I’ll figure it out.”
“I have ears, milady Wanda,” Jon joked, slowing his pace to fall in step with them, his strong thighs eating up the distance they traveled. “I’m saddened you didn’t enjoy the toadstool soup. I let it simmer all day, too. I do not know where I’m going wrong.”
“Crow’s feet, lad. Ye must always use a healthy batch if ye wish to impart a hearty, savory flavor,” Dannan offered helpfully, brushing away snow like a plow as they continued to press onward.
Jon nodded his dark head, playfully knocking Dannan in the stomach with a light rap of his knuckles. “Of course, my friend. I should just hire you as my chef.”
Dannan’s tiny chuckle trickled to her ears. “Ah, lad, that would require roots. I’m footloose and fancy free, as ye well know. No ties bind ol’ Dannan.”
But Jon and Dannan’s good-natured chatter became muffled as a low voice calling her name caught Toni’s ear. She fell behind the group as they continued to talk, stopping in the middle of the clearing they were passing through.
Tree stumps sprouted everywhere, a light film of snow covering them. The trees surrounding the perimeter sparkled in the sun, ice dripping from the branches like glassy talons.
Colorful toadstools bowed in the wind, their multicolored, broad tops bending forward then back, as though waving her toward an enormous tree with a hole carved in the center of its base.
Now here’s where she should seriously rethink letting everyone else get so far ahead of her, but come on. Since she’d long passed fear and was well on her way to curious, she wanted to see all these amazing wonders that were things she’d only seen in movies.
If she stopped to think about this, really think about it, being here in Shamalot was every childhood fantasy fulfilled. Magical and serene. So she decided to take a quick peek and then she’d catch up with the others.
As she made her way to the snow-covered base, the scent of something familiar tweaked her cerebral cortex. Toni squinted at the tree, with its long, craggy limbs, and then she squinted again.
Was that a tendril of steam wafting from the tree?
It damn well was. And the scent drifting toward her nose, filling it with caffeinated bliss?
It was the scent of the nectar of the gods. The scent of a Starbucks white-chocolate mocha, extra whipped cream, please.
No. That couldn’t be real.
But a hand, supple and smooth, slithered from behind the tree, holding something. Something in a white paper cup with a label Toni knew well.
As she got closer, she saw a name in bold, black print on the cup. Just like the nice Starbucks barista Anthony would write on her cup every week when she treated herself to a grande on payday.
Shut the front door. What sorcery was this?
She almost couldn’t contain her joy when a weak voice said, “Toni?”
Oh my God, the voice even sounded like Anthony’s!
You’d think that should have been her first clue. But no. She wasn’t into clues or ominous warnings, like that gut feeling briefly reminding her this was too good to be true.