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That was something her mother, Joni, never did. The only unselfish thing she’d ever done was leave Remy with her nana when she decided to hit the road with her band. And even that hadn’t been entirely unselfish. “Where is she playing now?” he asked.
“Nashville,” Remy said, tension in her voice. “She invited me to come travel with her for a while, but where’s that going to get me? Further from where I already want to be.”
A shop owner was what she didn’t need to say. “You’ll find a way to make the shop happen,” he said.
“Oh, I know.” Her shoulders lifted and fell with her heavy breath as she continued to stir the pot. “I’ll just go back and bartend at Kinsley’s and keep saving. It’ll happen, one day.”
Asher’s gaze fell to the way her ass wiggled a little with every stir of the pot. She’d never had this body when he’d dated her. A woman’s body. He ached to take a nibble out of that ass. Hot and hard now, he forced his gaze up to the soft strands of her hair, and when Remy still didn’t look back, focused on whatever she was making, he said, “The gossip train brought you dinners for the next two weeks.”
Remy piped up then, glancing over her shoulder, gaze scanning the items. “Really?”
He nodded. “They’re worried about you too.”
“Or they’re just nosy and this was a good way for them to get the deets on my life.” She glanced over each container, her expression warming immensely. “Still, that’s incredibly kind of them. I’ll make sure to send thank-you notes. Do you mind shoving it all in the freezer for me? I’ve got to keep an eye on this.”
Asher grabbed the containers again, and on his way to the fridge, he strode by Salem, who hissed, fur sticking straight up. “I can’t believe he still hates me,” Asher said, glaring back at the cat.
“He doesn’t hate you,” Remy countered. “He just doesn’t trust you. Two very different things.”
Probably much like Remy felt about him. Asher began putting away the containers in the freezer and decided to leave that subject alone. “What are you making, anyway? It smells…interesting.”
“I’ve been thinking about what to do all day, and I’ve come to the conclusion that I must be cursed.” She poured a small vial of something into the pot on the stove. “So, I’m going to break the curse.”
“You’re not cursed.” He adjusted a few containers, the cold air brushing across his face. “Want to leave the lasagna out for tonight?”
“Yeah, sounds yummy.” She paused, then went on. “And as for the not being cursed, you can’t have an opinion because you broke my heart once.”
“That’s fair,” he said, shutting the freezer door and turning back to her. “But you can’t possibly think that potion you’re making is actually going to help.”
She slowly turned around, a wooden spoon in her hand. “Asher Sullivan, take that back right now.”
He didn’t really believe in this voodoo shit the way she did. But he respected that Remy believed in it. And he’d seen some of her teas do remarkable things for colds, but a curse? “I take it back,” he said.
“You bet your ass you do!” She waved the spoon at him. “You, for one, should know how much my stuff helps. You’ve seen it.” She reached for another vial and dumped in some herbs.
He took in the swelling on her knuckles. “You need to keep icing your hand,” he said.
“Ice is a terrible thing, and I only did that to make you all shut up about it back at the station. I put a salve on it and it will be just fine.” She finished stirring, turned down the stove, then came over to the kitchen table and sat down, opening up the wooden box on top. She took out crystals, placing them near a small candle, which she then lit. She shut her eyes, exhaled deeply, then reached for her tarot cards wrapped in silk.
Asher watched the ritual she’d done a thousand times before. Some women followed their instincts. Others talked to their friends and sought advice. Remy used tarot cards to decide her fate.
Asher smiled, moving to the kitchen table to sit across from her. “What’s the question today?” he asked.
“Oh, this and that,” Remy said, shuffling the cards.
Salem jumped up on the table and lay down next to Remy. Asher couldn’t be sure, but he’d bet the cat was glaring at him.
Remy went quiet and began shuffling the cards, her eyes fluttering shut. When she opened them again, she began laying out the cards—three side by side, then a card on top and on the bottom of the middle card. He’d never believed in psychics, but Remy was definitely intuitive, as was her nana. He’d never admit it aloud, but there were more times that Remy’s tarot cards were right than wrong.
“Hmm,” she said, frowning down at the cards. “Is that so?” Her gaze lifted to his and she gave him a measured look. “See.” She pointed at the card. “Totally cursed.”
He glanced down at the cards, finding what appeared to be a grim reaper, before arching an eyebrow at her. “Remy, I have no idea what I’m looking at.”
“An epic disaster, that’s what.” She picked up the cards again and then passed them all through the flame, doing what Asher knew to mean she was cleansing her deck. In no time, she packed her things away and then rose. “I need to get this curse off me.”
“Okay, who do you think cursed you?”
She moved toward the kitchen cabinet. “If I knew that, then I’d deal with them, but since I don’t, this will have to do.” She grabbed two scotch glasses and used a ladle to pour dark liquid into each glass.
