Page 44

“Apparently.” She beams at me. “And bats!”

Of course I do.

But these aren’t ordinary bats.

Oh, no.

That would be too easy. They’re vampire bats.

Not actual vampires, Clarissa explains. Apparently, vampire bats are their own supernatural species.

And these particular ones are vegetarian. Guess what they love to eat?

Tomatoes.

Yup.

I have a good mind to release every last one of them in Damian’s precious garden after all the hullabaloo over his heirlooms.

I don’t yet. Mostly because there’s something about that dastardly Devil I can’t shake.

Like the fact my body heats up like a bonfire every time he’s near.

Or how good I felt wearing his clothes.

Or how his voice changes when he calls me Sweet.

Then there are those phantom golden sparks beneath my skin.

Whatever.

I learned a long time ago not to count on my magic. But besides the bats, I’ve got another problem.

Gnomes.

Not cute little ceramic guys with red hats either. These fuckers are vicious. And they keep digging holes in my backyard.

Part of the Bell’s Books, Bed & Breakfast experience is supposed to be the secluded romantic garden behind the house. There’s even an overgrown lovers’ maze, perfect for strolling—or necking, if you know what I mean—along with strategically placed benches and one gorgeous old wooden swing.

Once I clean it up, it’ll be magical.

Assuming my guests survive walking through it.

I nearly broke my ankle twice before noon.

“Weird,” Clarissa says, crouching beside a freshly dug hole.

“What?”

“These are new.”

I stare at her.

“The holes?”

“The gnomes.”

Oh.