She scratched again, harder this time, with a desperate whine spewing from her throat.
Ezra opened the paint-peeled window, shoving it upward with a grunt as she fell inside, dropping to the floor. Forcing her way past her gramps, who wore old, worn flannel pajamas and an astonished expression, she headed straight to her room as she began to shift back to human.
Nudging the door shut with her muzzle, she listened, satisfied when the latch caught just as her limbs began to return to their human form. She collapsed on the floor by her bed, panting, exhausted.
Ezra pounded on the door. “Calla! You let me in, young lady! I want an explanation! If I have to go kick that Nash Ryder’s ass from here to China, I wanna know why I’m doin’ it!”
Tears began to seep from her eyes, fat, salty droplets of shame. She didn’t know if she understood what had just happened well enough to give Ezra permission to kick Nash’s ass.
None of this made any sense. Not a single second from the moment she’d awakened. Taking a deep breath, she tried to get a grip on herself, tried to clear her head as Ezra continued to knock. “Gramps! Just give me a minute. Okay? Please. Let me get a shower, and then we’ll talk.”
She heard him cluck his tongue from behind the door and grumble. “I’ll make coffee, Kitten, but you hurry it up in there or I’m gonna go drag that horse-puckey shoveler from his damn house and tear his throat out!”
She almost laughed at how sure Ezra was that something had gone wrong with Nash. If only he knew how wrong.
Pulling herself up to the edge of her bed, she glanced at the clock and realized she’d told Kirby she’d drop by later this morning to check in on her—it was the first time she’d let anyone open the center for her. If she didn’t make an appearance, Kirby would become suspicious.
Several deep, shuddering breaths later, she padded to her bathroom—the one her grandfather had renovated just for her, with an enormous white cast-iron tub and freshly whitewashed bead board along the walls.
He’d said he’d done it because all girls should have a private place to make their pretties without having to do it around whisker stubbles and globs of shaving cream.
But today, it didn’t soothe her the way it usually did.
Today, as she caught sight of the soda tab still on the chain around her neck and fought a sob, nothing could soothe her.
Ezra frowned, his weathered brow wrinkling as he poured another cup of coffee for Daphne and Greta, who’d rushed over the moment Ezra had stuck his interfering nose in and called them. “Say what now, girl?”
God. She was talking about having sex in front of her grandfather. Somehow the natural order of things had become quite a SNAFU.
Calla let her chin fall to her chest and said one more time, “He kicked me out of his house, Gramps. Told me he had no idea who I was or how I’d gotten him into the bedroo—Well, you know what I mean. But he very clearly said he didn’t know who I was and then he practically shoved me out the door.”
Twyla Faye curled around her ankles. “Butthead! I know, I’ll curse his sinfully delicious keister! He’ll be in Vegas gettin’ hitched to the fountains at the Bellagio while Elvis croons ‘Love Me Tender’ in just a swish of my tail!”
Calla reached down and scooped up Twyla Faye, setting her on the table. “No. No more marriage proposals to inanimate objects. I appreciate your wanting to defend my honor, but you keep your magic to yourself. Please.”
Daphne’s eyes went wide—again—while Greta fondled her precious whistle, her knuckles white. “Do you want me to send Fate over there, Calla? He’ll wipe the place clean with him! Oh, wait. I know! I’ll have Fate call Mother Nature—she’ll whip up a tsunami. A big, ugly wave of water that’ll wipe him clean off those rippley thighs of his! She can be one uppity bitch, but she’s a real tiger in a pinch. You know—”
“No!” Calla shouted, hopping up from the dining room chair, her heart still racing. “I don’t want you to send anyone anywhere.” Unless they could send her back in time.
Reaching for the countertop, she leaned into the cool exterior of her fridge and kept trying to breathe.
This was a waking nightmare.
All while she’d taken a shower, she’d tried to understand what had happened. What would make Nash go to sleep saying he loved her and wake up not recognizing her?
All of the acceptance and love she’d experienced last night was trashed. The image of his face, his eyes, roaming over her as though she’d taken advantage of him, kept flashing through her brain, making her want to vomit.
That’s when doubt had begun to set in. All the horrible words Reed had once said about hoping he could forget what she looked like naked, when he’d thought she was out of earshot, began to worm their way into the cracks of her insecurities.