Easy Magic (Boudreaux #5)

“Do you own homes in other places?”


“The house I’m renovating in New Orleans is the only property I own in my name,” I reply. “But my family owns places all over the world. Travel is a big part of our jobs, as our company is globally sought after, and my father, and let’s be honest, Eli, wanted a home base rather than hotels. So we own apartments in London, New York, and San Francisco. There’s this property here in Florida, and that’s it for now.”

“That’s a lot,” she says, hugging her knees to her chest. In the past twenty minutes, she’s withdrawn from me.

This won’t be tolerated.

But she’s stubborn, like me, so I can’t just demand that she speak.

Why are women so difficult?

We sit in silence for a while, watching the waves and the sea birds.

“I can’t change the fact that my family is wealthy,” I say at last. She whips her gaze to mine.

“I’m not—”

“I understand that it’s unusual, and I can see where it could be intimidating for many people, but damn it, I work very hard. I won’t apologize for being successful.”

“No.” She stands and straddles my lap, holding my face in her hands. “I’m not asking you to apologize for that, and I never would. You’re right, it’s a lot to take in, but it’s who you are, and I respect you very much.”

I plant my hands on her back, holding her close.

“Then tell me what’s wrong. Why did you pull away just now? What did I say that’s bothering you?”

“Are you sure that you’re not the psychic?” She asks, trying to smile. I wait, watching emotions roll over her face. Finally, her shoulders drop and she looks at me with tear-filled eyes. “It’s dumb.”

“No, it’s not dumb, baby.”

She nods. “Yeah, it is. But I can’t help it.”

I brush a tear away with my thumb. Seeing her cry is killing me.

“What is it?”

She bites her lip and then says, “I don’t want to think about another woman having your babies. It just makes me sad and jealous and then I get pissed, and that’s dumb because you want babies and someone should have them for you.”

I try to speak, but now that she’s talking, she’s not stopping, so I decide not to interrupt.

“I know that I’m not the woman who will have kids with you, and some day I won’t see you or your family any more, and that’s sad to me because I really like all of you. But when you decide to move on, it’ll be awkward for me to still be friends with the girls, and I’m really going to miss them.”

“Wow, this is a lot of thinking,” I say with a sigh and pull her down into my arms, cradling her. “Shh, Mal. You’re getting worked up over things that aren’t happening.”

“But they will. I don’t have to be psychic to know it.”

Bullshit. I’m completely in love with you. I’m not going anywhere, and when the time is right to have children, it’s going to be with you.

But she’s not ready to hear those words yet, and frankly, I’m not ready to say them.

“This is ours,” I remind her. “And it’s right here.”

She nods, and fists her hand in my shirt, holding on. I tighten my hold on her and kiss the crown of her head.

“I’m right here, baby.”





Chapter Thirteen


Mallory

I loved being in Florida with Beau, but it’s good to be home. The shop ran well without me, and I don’t know if that makes me proud, or feel a little like I’m useless.

I’m going to choose pride.

Beau is sound asleep beside me, resting peacefully. He doesn’t snore, at least not that I’ve ever heard. Although, I’m usually asleep too. I’ve found that since I’ve been with Beau, I rarely have insomnia.

I think it’s because I feel so safe when I’m with him that sleep comes easily.

But not tonight. I’m physically exhausted. It’s been a busy week at work, and I started going to the gym with Lena. I’m not sure why, other than she begged because she doesn’t like to go alone, and that way I get to see her more.

But she likes to go at six in the morning, before school, so basically she hates me.

I snort and shake my head at myself. I guess I’m a bit dramatic when I’m tired and I can’t sleep. Maybe I should wake Beau for a round two?

I glance over at him and feel myself soften. He’s so relaxed, I don’t have the heart to wake him. And, round one was something to write home about, so I really have nothing to complain about.

So I reach for my journal and begin writing about my day. I like to keep a gratitude journal, where I talk about all of the positive things that happened that day, or whenever I have the time to spend with it. We always remember all of the bad things that happen. I certainly don’t have to write those down.

But I want to remember the good as well.

I’m only one page in when my eyes are too heavy and unfocused to continue, so I set it aside, lie down, and give in to sleep.



I blink my eyes open and reach over to turn out the light, but movement from the corner of the room has me sitting upright and scowling.

“I don’t allow spirits in this house.”

The tall man, sitting in my grandmother’s rocking chair, simply smiles and pats his knee in time with the rhythm of the chair.

“I know, and I’m sure sorry for intruding, but you’re a tough woman to catch up with.”

I tilt my head to the side, no longer afraid, but interested to know who this is.

“I’m Beau’s Papa, Beauregard Boudreaux.” He smiles and nods his head toward me. “And you’re the beautiful woman who has captured his heart.”

“Beau’s daddy is a romantic?” I ask with a smile and leave the bed. I glance back at Beau to see that he’s still asleep.

“This is a dream, Mallory. He can’t hear us. But we’re leaving anyway. I have some things to show you.”

He winks and stands, holds his hand out for mine, and when I slip it in his grasp, we’re suddenly not in my house anymore.

“Where are we?”

“When are we,” he replies with a wink. “I thought I’d show you some of my memories.”

“Why?”

“Because I love my family, and it seems that you’re going to be a part of them now. You’re a lucky girl.”

“I know that they’re wealthy—”

“For Christ’s sake, child. You’re way too focused on the money. That’s not why you’re lucky.” He shakes his head, and I feel like a scolded child. “These people are the most loving, supportive, caring people you could ever have in your life.”

“But you’re not biased,” I reply with a laugh, and then look where he’s pointing. There’s a woman, about my age, chopping vegetables and giving orders to three children.

“Charly, that’s perfect. You’re sure learning my gumbo recipe quickly. Your daddy will love it.”