He rustled the newspaper he was reading before setting it down on the end table. “I do not. I never say it to your cousin Mort. He’s ugly. Told him so on the phone just the other day.”
Calla giggled as she stashed things away in her purse. Mort wasn’t ugly. He was just big, and awkward, and her grandfather adored him. “Leave Mort alone, Gramps. He’s a good guy.”
“A good ugly guy with feet the size of warships. Not nearly as pretty as you.”
“Twyla Faye? What do you think? Do you approve?” She twirled, luxuriating in the fabric rustling against the tops of her knees.
“Do purses and belts get the right of approval?”
Calla snorted and ran a hand over the lizard’s spiny back to soothe her bruised ego. “Oh, stop grudging over Icabod. Besides, I never think purse when I think of you. I’d definitely go with shoes.”
Twyla Faye gasped, her head swiveling in Calla’s direction. “You cut me to the quick. It’s like I have no feelings at all. And after all my love and undying devotion.”
“Define ‘undying devotion’, lizard. Does undying devotion entail you flirting with Nash?”
“No fair. He’s hot, Calla. Thinkin’ about it now, given the chance, I’d turn you into a sign on the turnpike if I thought I had a chance at him. But he only has eyes for you.”
“And if you could get the sign correct,” she teased.
Twyla Faye gave Calla her back. “One gnome gone wrong and it’s like I turned the Maldives into a Dollar Store. Much ado about nothing.”
Calla chuckled and pressed a kiss to her fingers, dropping it on Twyla Faye’s head. “Behave while I’m gone, and don’t wait up for me.”
Taking a deep breath, she snapped her purse shut and turned to Ezra. “You about ready?”
Ezra rose and stretched before smoothing his hands over his best pair of trousers. “Question is, are you?”
She rolled her eyes. She was absolutely not talking the big sex-tivus with her grandfather. They were pretty close, but that was one subject she’d never be able to comfortably discuss with him. “Grandpa…”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her into his embrace, the warmth of his sweater vest tickling her chin as he hugged her. He smelled of all the good things from her childhood—pancakes with thick maple syrup, hickory from the smoker he used to smoke bacon, and Old Spice, his favorite if utterly outdated cologne.
“That’s not what I mean and you know it, young lady. I’m just teasin’ ya to tease ya about the other stuff. That’s none of this old geezer’s business.”
“So you didn’t really buy raffle tickets for the beer-for-a-year contest?”
“Oh, no. I did that. I bought eight and I put Twyla Faye’s name in the pool, too,” he blustered before he grinned. “I meant, are you ready to let go? Trust? Nash is a good guy, Calla-Lilly. Strong, dependable, nice to us golden oldies around town. Can’t do better n’ Nash.”
Calla peered up at him, watching his blue eyes twinkle, the corners of them lined with crow’s feet, and she knew he was remembering her grandmother Lettie. Theirs had been a marriage for the ages—literally. She’d learned everything she ever wanted in a relationship from them.
“Old? You? You’re about as old as a fifth grader.”
Placing her hands on his shoulders, she pecked him on the cheek. She was beyond grateful her grandfather had agreed, at her urging, to let the witches of Paris buy his building when he’d planned to sell it after closing the doors of his butcher shop, allowing her a new career opportunity.
Hallow Moon had been her brainchild after discovering some of the senior witches and warlocks in town could be hard to handle, and downright mischievous. That they needed a place to spend their days to keep their minds active had become evident upon her initial return to Texas.
As the old order grew older, families were finding it difficult to find caregivers privy to their supernatural status in Paris. In fact, it was virtually impossible, and hiring a human was out of the question when it came to magic wand mishaps. The risk of discovery was too great.
But after one of her favorite seniors ever, Clive Stillwater, had set a car on fire with a misaimed flick of his finger, everyone agreed old Clive needed a watchful eye.
As she’d licked her wounds over her bag-of-dicks ex-boss, she’d found a much-needed distraction keeping track of Clive and his gang of miscreants while his granddaughter was at work, and that’s when her idea to open a senior center had begun.
The elders of the Council of Witches paid her well to manage the center, and she’d grown to love her band of curmudgeons, as well as her employees from Winnie and Ben’s halfway house.
So many good things had happened since she’d come back to Texas. She just had one more hurdle and it would be perfect…