Page 46

His wings flare. His tail lashes. And I swear his skin tints a darker shade of red. Then his head slowly turns. Right toward my window.

I drop behind the curtain.

“Shit.”

“BELINDA!”

I slap a hand over my mouth to smother my laughter.

Okay.

Maybe war with the Jersey Devil next door isn’t the smartest decision I’ve ever made.

But Goddess help me, it’s the most fun I’ve had in years.

Three nights later, someone pounds on my front door hard enough to wake the dead. Which, around here, is probably a legitimate concern.

“Coming!”

I’m finishing the last batch of pumpkin-spice muffins because tonight is important. I’m so excited I swear I could walk on air if someone asked me to—kidding.

But seriously, my first guests are arriving any minute.

It’s only a soft opening—a couple of bookings to test everything before Halloween weekend—but I’ve spent the entire day fluttering between excitement and terror.

And yeah, I made some extra muffins.

For Damian.

Because I’ve decided we need a truce.

“BELINDA!”

Followed by two more hard knocks.

Oh.

Well, apparently, he has not reached the same conclusion. I wipe my hands on my favorite purple apron and open the door.

And there he is—the man himself in all his devilish glory.

Wings spread.

Eyes glowing.

Jaw clenched.

And he’s holding a basket of shriveled tomatoes like evidence in a murder trial.

“Do you see this?”

“Hello to you too.”

“My prizewinning heirlooms are ruined!”

I peer into the basket. Eeek! They look like sun-dried tomatoes.

“Wow.”