“I microwave,” I hedged, taking another sip of what was clearly the greatest coffee ever brewed—was thatcinnamon?I schooled my features. “But I didn't picture this for you. I always figured you were more of a pour-milk-over-marshmallow-cereal kind of guy.”
He drank from his own mug, leaning a hip against the counter. “I love those marshmallows. I pick them all out, then I’m bummed when all that’s left are the flakes.”
I snorted. “I throw out the flakes.”
“Wasteful, Spells.” He tsked and set a plate of bacon and pancakes in front of me. The smell wasindecent—butter, sugar, temptation. There was no way this was real. We’d gone from enemies, to the silent treatment, to domestic bliss,and I needed off this ride before I found out where it ended. Because right now, I was about to sell my soul for lifetime tickets.
“This doesn’t change anything,” I warned, pouring syrup.
“It shouldn’t. I gave you the burnt bacon.”
“Joke’s on you. I like it extra crispy.”
“Noted.” His grin was pure sin as he bit into a strip of bacon as if he’d just made some kind of vow.
The man was possessed—literally.
We ate in silence. I kept glancing over, watching him clean his plate, nearly forgetting that two’s company and three’s a crowd until a cupboard door slammed behind me. I nearly wore my coffee.
Grant just arched an eyebrow, unfazed. “I don’t think we’re alone.”
“How are you not bothered by that?”
He shrugged. “There's only room for one scaredy-cat in this relationship. Someone has to be the strong, devastatingly handsome protector of innocents in candy-cane sleepwear.”
I pointed my fork at him, the tines warding away his battle-smirk. “We arenotin a relationship.”
“Ah—” He braced one hand on the counter beside me, his forearms mocking my puny utensil. “But you do think I'm handsome.”
“I think you're disturbed.”
The salt shaker rattled, tipped, and spilled directly into my syrup.
I scowled. “Oh, come on.”
“I think the ghost likes me better,” Grant said, licking syrup off his thumb. “You should leave. Let me handle this one.”
“Not a chance.” I smiled sweetly, sliding off the stool. “Thanks for breakfast. I hope you and the ghost live happily ever after—inside the walls.”
Mug in hand, I waved over my shoulder and went in search of the housekeeper.
Chapter 15
Valerie
I caught the housekeeper,or Amelia as she liked to be called, just as she was leaving, bundled in a brown peacoat, green scarf, and sleek knee-high boots. She agreed to talk on the veranda if I made it quick. I sprinted back upstairs for my jacket, then found her perched on the wicker bench, breath puffing white in the frosty air.
“Sorry,” she said. “I never stay a minute past my shift. I clean, and I go.”
“I don’t blame you.” I tugged on my mittens. “Just a few questions.”
She nodded. “Edith said you’re from the Agency.” Her voice dropped as if we were surrounded by eavesdroppers and not a barren landscape of skeleton trees. “You and that partner of yours are really witches?”
“Technically, we’re miracle workers.”
Amelia fanned herself with one mitten. “Well, that tracks. Is the miracle that he’s still single?”
My lips flattened. “He’s married.”
