He paused, looking down at her with his comical skepticism. “More Yash?”
She grinned and giggled. “I think so. It just hits my brain out of nowhere. I think I’m just the messenger.”
Rick grinned, pressing his lips to hers. “Well, in the interest of Yash’s wise words and doing something…wanna be my girlfriend?”
“As in your steady Saturday night lay?”
“As in my steady, every night lay—my everyday everything, too.”
“Can I think about it?” she asked, threading her fingers through his silky hair.
“Nope. Now or never, McGuillicuddy.”
“Then in the interest of missed opportunities, the answer is yes. I’ll be your steady. I hope you brought your warlock ring to see the deal. Otherwise, it’s not official,” she teased, running her palms over his broad chest
“Oh really?” he asked, before capturing her lips and devouring them in a kiss that left her toes curling. “Official enough for you, mi corazón?”
Gazing up at Rick, cherishing his eyes so full of the love he wasn’t quite ready to confess, she whispered, “Si, si, si,” before she planted her lips back on his and sealed their forever deal with a sigh rich with contentment and laced with forever.
Forever and ever.
The End
But wait! I hope you’ll come back in 2017 and join Wanda for her journey into adoption and creating a family of her own, and along the way, a possible love interest for our sweet Carl. Also, The Accidental Mermaid is on the 2017 horizon, too! No matter what, my deepest wish is you’ll all come back for more of the Accidentals’ crazy shenanigans, but most of all, you’ll share in their true love of family and friends!
Preview another book by this author
Witch Slapped
Witchless In Seattle Mysteries, Book 1
Dakota Cassidy
Published 2016 by Book Boutiques.
ISBN: 978-1-944003-36-4
Copyright ? 2016, Dakota Cassidy.
All rights reserved.
Chapter 1
“Left, Stevie! Left!” my familiar, Belfry, bellowed, flapping his teeny bat wings in a rhythmic whir against the lash of wind and rain. “No, your other left! If you don’t get this right sometime soon, we’re gonna end up resurrecting the entire population of hell!”
I repositioned him in the air, moving my hand to the left, my fingers and arms aching as the icy rains of Seattle in February battered my face and my last clean outfit. “Are you sure it was here that the voice led you? Like right in this spot? Why would a ghost choose a cliff on a hill in the middle of Ebenezer Falls as a place to strike up a conversation?”
“Stevie Cartwright, in your former witch life, did the ghosts you once spent more time with than the living always choose convenient locales to do their talking? As I recall, that loose screw Ferdinand Santos decided to make an appearance at the gynecologist. Remember? It was all stirrups and forceps and gabbing about you going to his wife to tell her where he hid the toenail clippers. That’s only one example. Shall I list more?”
Sometimes, in my former life as a witch, those who’d gone to the Great Beyond contacted me to help them settle up a score, or reveal information they took to the grave but felt guilty about taking. Some scores and guilty consciences were worthier than others.
“Fine. Let’s forget about convenience and settle for getting the job done because it’s forty degrees and dropping, you’re going to catch your death, and I can’t spend all day on a rainy cliff just because you’re sure someone is trying to contact me using you as my conduit. You aren’t like rabbit ears on a TV, buddy. And let’s not forget the fact that we’re unemployed, if you’ll recall. We need a job, Belfry. We need big, big job before my savings turns to ashes and joins the pile that was once known as my life.”
“Higher!” he demanded. Then he asked, “Speaking of ashes, on a scale of one to ten, how much do you hate Baba Yaga today? You know, now that we’re a month into this witchless gig?”
Losing my witch powers was a sore subject I tried in quiet desperation to keep on the inside.
I puffed an icy breath from my lips, creating a spray from the rain splashing into my mouth. “I don’t hate Baba,” I replied easily.
Almost too easily.
The answer had become second nature. I responded the same way every time anyone asked when referring to the witch community’s fearless, ageless leader, Baba Yaga, who’d shunned me right out of my former life in Paris, Texas, and back to my roots in a suburb of Seattle.
I won’t lie. That had been the single most painful moment of my life. I didn’t think anything could top being left at the altar by Warren the Wayward Warlock. Forget losing a fiancé. I had the witch literally slapped right out of me. I lost my entire being. Everything I’ve ever known.