By Magic Alone by Tracy Madison

Author:Tracy Madison
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781428509801
Publisher: Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
Published: 2010-03-15T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

“Verda? This is Julia Collins.” I said into the phone. “I need to talk to you as soon as possible. It’s about . . . um . . . the roses. Can you please call me back? Thanks.” I rattled off my cell number, clicked the “end” button, and dropped the phone on my desk.

Three freaking times I’d tried to call her already. Though this was the first message I’d left. I mean, come on, how was I supposed to leave a message about a rose-perfumed ghost without coming off as a lunatic? Exactly. I couldn’t.

I swallowed a groan. It was early Monday afternoon and I’d accomplished less than nothing. Between obsessing over the journal, Scot, ghosts, Scot, Jameson, and yeah, Scot, I’d been lucky to remember to brush my hair this morning.

The business line rang. Diane was already gone for the day, so I grabbed it. “Introductions, this is Julia.”

“Hi, Julia. It’s Jameson.” His voice was clipped. “I need to cancel our appointment this afternoon.”

A tingling sense of relief eased over me. “Oh. Is everything okay?”

“Just busy. A development with a client requires my immediate attention.” His voice dropped to a low rumble. “But I was thinking it might be best to hold off on becoming a client. I’d like to see you again.”

“Yes. Of course. We have your family’s—”

“Party,” Jameson filled in with a laugh. “But I want to see you before that. I really enjoyed the time we spent together yesterday.”

“Yes. Right! The zoo was lovely,” I managed to say. “Too bad we didn’t see any joeys!” Oh, dear God. I instructed myself to pull it together. Now. “I enjoyed myself too, Jameson.”

“How about dinner this week? Seeing how our lunch didn’t pan out all that well.”

Crap. I grabbed a paper clip and started untwisting.

“Dinner?” I coughed the word. Not on purpose, but I went with it. “I might be getting a cold. I’ll . . . ah . . . give you a call in a few days. Let you know how I’m feeling.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” I heard a bunch of noise in the background. “I have to go. Take care of yourself, Julia. We’ll talk soon?”

I agreed and we hung up.

I continued twisting and untwisting my paper clip. He had not offered to bring me chicken soup. “Stop,” I hissed. “Stop comparing them. Just stop.”

Hell. I’d eventually say yes to another date. There wasn’t any reason not to. We were about as compatible as two people could be. But I hadn’t worked out how I felt about Jameson, and the weird sensation of being pulled along with the tide hadn’t disappeared. I felt as if our outcome was somehow a done deal. Marriage. Kids. Many uncomfortable functions with his family and mine—years and years and years of them. Piling up on one another until they meshed into a lifetime of . . .

Pressure tightened my throat, encased my chest. I breathed evenly to loosen everything up. Scot. Three boys. Relaxed family gatherings that were filled with humor and ease.

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