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Her best friend’s response came a few minutes later, bless her.
do it!! sluts 4 lyfe
sexy ladies under tremendous stress indeed
It took some time for Lucy’s heart rate to slow after that encounter with Grayson, but the shenanigans didn’t.
A few mornings later, after she set up the sweets—this time, molasses cookies, butter pecan brownies, and peppermint bark—she went to make herself breakfast and found the toaster was nowhere in sight. Her heart all but stopped.
“Grayson!” she called.
“Hmm?” He looked up calmly from where he was standing next to the fire, reading a book. Today, he was wearing a black sweater with black trousers, and the effect was lethal. His eyes were a bright, brilliant blue, his hair a crisp golden.
“Where’s my toaster?”
“Don’t know what you mean.” He turned back to his book, but she caught the slight tilt of his lips.
“Tell me!” she demanded. “Is nothing sacred?”
“Aren’t you a witch?” He flipped a page. “Use that nifty little magic of yours to make yourself a new toaster.”
Her eye twitched. “Tell meeeeeeee.”
He didn’t respond.
“I’m going to be on the news tomorrow, and it won’t be for anything good,” she threatened. He still didn’t respond.
She wanted to cry. She was starving. She wanted her toast.
Using magic to conjure another toaster wouldn’t end well because it was so big, and electronics were notoriously tricky, anyway. Lucy couldn’t eat her bread unless it was toasted because it just wasn’t the same, and she needed her toast because she needed breakfast to function. She was already feeling very violent.
“Just tell me!” She stomped over, standing in front of him, then gasped. There were breadcrumbs on the front of his sweater; she could see them clearly against the black thread. “You used it this morning, didn’t you?”
She glanced back at the loaf of bread to find a slice missing. He brushed a hand over his chest, and she tried not to get distracted by his long, elegant fingers, the way the tendons in his hand moved.
“GRAYSON.”
He finally looked up, eyes amused. “Why are you getting so emotional about toast?”
“TOAST IS IMPORTANT TO ME.” She was quite literally on the verge of tears.
“Why don’t you just use your magic, hmm?” he asked, leaning down so they were eye level. “Or better yet, just stare at it. I’m sure it’ll burn to a crisp at one look from those eyes of yours.”
“IT ISN’T THE SAME.”
“Seems like a personal problem.” He pulled away, returning to his book.
He’d clearly won that round, which made her get a bit carried away thereafter. She hid the kettle right around when he was going to have his second cup of tea, which was always precisely two hours after opening.
When he couldn’t find it, he gave her the dirtiest look. “This is a low blow,” he said.
“That’s RICH coming from you.”
So he made himself coffee, but he didn’t yet know how to use her fancy espresso machine, and she could tell it didn’t come out right. He didn’t enjoy it one bit, resulting in a mood as foul as hers.
Grayson retaliated by messing up the order she had the romance books shelved in. She had them color coded rather than alphabetically placed—they were more appealing that way!—and when she saw her beautiful rainbow of books entirely rearranged, she nearly popped a blood vessel.
She let out a subdued shriek, and he snickered in the background. She couldn’t even use magic to fix it because her magic wouldn’t know the complexity of what she wanted the shelves to look like; she did it meticulously, adjusting as she went.
