Page 20 of Grimoires & Glamoury

He chuckled at that and smiled. That sincere curving of his lips changed him entirely. He’d always been attractive, but his smile? It was one dangerous weapon. Whoa, I thought, I must be seriously punch drunk from the day’s events to be thinking in any way about his smile.

“Are you going to invite me in?” he asked, and it jolted me from my own thoughts.

“Lucky for you, I happen to be hungry,” I said, opening the door fully for him. “Come in then.”

“You are too kind,” he said, bowing slightly from the waist.

“Jerk,” I muttered as he stepped inside.

The insult only made his mouth turn up more.

After shutting the door, I gestured for him to follow me back to the kitchen. “I was planning on calling you tomorrow to fill you in.” I pointed at the table. “You can put those down there.”

He slid the boxes onto the table as I went to pull plates from the cabinets.

“I like your house,” he said.

“Thanks,” I said cautiously.

“I mean it,” he said, picking up on my suspicion. “It’s a charming bungalow.”

“Prairie Craftsman,” I corrected automatically.

“It suits you.”

Not sure how to respond to that, I carried the plates to the table.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you in such casual clothes,” he said.

My back stiffened. “You show up unannounced, and you’re giving me grief about what I’m wearing?”

“Not at all,” he said.

“Oh, well, thank the goddess,” I snarked, gripping the plates tighter—otherwise I might be tempted to chuck one at his head. “Don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t approved of my outfit, sugar.”

He stepped closer, holding out his hand for the plates. “Allow me. You look tired, Lorna.”

“It was a hell of a day,” I said, passing them over. I then went to the fridge, pulling out two cans of soft drinks. We sat across from one another at the table, and he opened up the first box which was a simple cheese pizza. The second held a loaded pizza.

“I’ll take the cheese,” I said.

“Don’t like pepperoni?” he asked, helping himself to a loaded slice.

“I don’t like onions,” I replied. “They tear up my stomach.”

“Good thing I followed my intuition and got a plain one then,” he said. “Eat. The carbs and protein will help refuel you.”

Unable to argue with that logic, and because I was terribly hungry, I dug in. For the next few minutes, we both simply ate. It was almost relaxing. Most men felt they had to fill any silence—usually with their own opinions or ego. Yet, to my complete and utter shock, it didn’t seem to be the case with him.

A part of my mind was hyper-aware that Charles Montgomery, the head ceremonial magician of Birmingham, was sitting in my kitchen, and we were sharing a quiet meal. Which was absolutely bizarre.

I mean, I simply hadn’t had that scenario on this year’s bingo card.

Reaching for my soft drink, I discovered that his electric blue eyes were watching me—very closely.

“What?” I asked.

“You look different with your hair down.”