Jessica
To rid a home of demons, sweep it counterclockwise with a new broom.
Goody Fletcher, Book of Useful Household Tips
I wasn’t expecting the kiss.
But I felt it. Oh, how I felt it.
If I’d thought the touch of his fingers on my shoulder or knee was amazing, that was nothing compared to the touch of his lips on mine. Suddenly every cell in my body sprang awake, like I’d been struck by lightning—but in a good way. Was there such a thing as gentle lightning?
Because that’s what his kiss felt like. Lightning filled with golden autumn leaves and softly falling rain. He smelled of it, of the rain and the leaves—as absurd as I knew that sounded. He smelled of the mist that had hung over the grass when I’d left my house that morning, as clean and as fresh as newly picked apples.
And his lips on mine, rather than demanding anything, were a promise: a promise of more kisses to come. That promise was echoed in the hard outline of his body, pressed against mine. For a moment, I forgot everything else except those lips and that body—like that there was a supernatural cataclysm threatening my town, that my ex-boyfriend was standing a few feet away, and that Derrick had just accused that same ex-boyfriend of possibly being a demon, then told him we were dating.
Then he lifted his face from mine, and I saw that he looked as shocked as I did—though I didn’t know what he had to be so surprised about, since the whole thing had been his idea to begin with. It wasn’t until I heard a deep voice say, “Well, uh,” that I was able to drag my gaze from his gleaming eyes and see Billy still standing by my front door, shuffling his feet.
“I’m happy for you, Jess,” Billy said, and he actually did look happy. “It’s great—really great—that you’ve found someone. Rosie and I were just asking each other, when is Jessica ever gonna settle down?”
Great. Forget demons. This was my apocalyptic nightmare.
I dropped my arm from around Derrick’s waist and took a step away from him, since I could still feel energy radiating from his body to mine. I couldn’t tell from his expressionless profile if he could feel it, too, but I didn’t need it scrambling my senses anymore. “Oh?”
“Yeah.” Billy shoved his hands in the pockets of his Dockers and rocked back on his heels, still smiling. “It’s nice to see you taking life seriously for a change. You know Rosalie says that a woman’s fertility begins to decline dramatically after age—”
“Okay, then,” I interrupted briskly. “What was it, exactly, that brought you by, Billy?”
“Oh.” He quit smiling, apparently remembering that the reason for his visit wasn’t only to remind me that I hadn’t had kids yet. “Right. Your car. I saw it in the parking lot just now outside the school. You’re still driving that blue Mini Cooper, right?”
Bluebell! “Yes.” It physically pained me to think what kind of damage Rosalie might have inflicted on my beloved vintage Mini. “Why? How bad is it?”
He winced, pulling his phone from one of his pockets. “Bad, Jess. Really bad. Much worse than that Fiat out there in the driveway.”
Derrick muttered, seemingly to no one in particular, “It’s a rental.”
I felt a pang. Poor Bluebell. She and I had been through a lot together, including alternate side of the street parking rules in New York City during the years I’d lived there. “Won’t insurance cover the damage?”
“Sure, if you carry comprehensive.” Billy scrolled through some photos on his phone, then turned the screen toward me. “But I think it might be a total loss.”
I stared down in horror at the photo. Bluebell was barely recognizable. Was this another one of Derrick’s signs of impending doom for West Harbor? Or only another example of Rosalie’s ongoing vendetta against me? How could she have been so cruel? It was one thing to have gone after me, but my poor innocent car?
“But I wanted to let you know that I’m taking care of it,” Billy said quickly, apparently seeing the heartache on my face. “I’m having your car towed over to Hopkins Motors, and I’m putting our best guys on it. If they can’t fix it, no one can.”
I could barely look at the photos, they were so awful. I handed his phone back to him. “Thanks, Billy.”
“And while your car is in the shop,” he went on, shoving his cell back into his pocket, “you can borrow any other vehicle on the lot, free of charge. And if it turns out we can’t repair it, I’ll get you the best deal possible on a new one. Friends and family discount. Whatever you need.”
“That’s so nice of you, Billy.” I didn’t want a new car. I wanted Bluebell. “Thanks.”
“Hopkins Motors?” Derrick, slouching back against the fireplace mantel, straightened.
“Yeah.” Billy beamed at him. “My father-in-law owns it.”
“Your father-in-law.” Derrick’s silver gaze laser-focused onto me. “You’re married to Rosalie Hopkins.”
Billy beamed. “That’s right. Do you know her?”
“Only by reputation.” Derrick’s gaze on me narrowed. “Weird that no one mentioned to me that the two of you were married.”
By “no one,” I knew that Derrick meant me, and that I was going to have some explaining to do.
But how could I explain something that, even today, still caused me so much grief?