Lovely Witches Club

Chapter 6: Car Trouble

I could sit in the car for the next little bit and see if the rain was going to clear, or I could venture inside the coffee shop and get a caffeine fix and hope Carol rebooted herself or whatever she did when she decided to quit on me like this. Frankly, the fact we made it all the way to PEI was a huge and oddly satisfying shocker.

Still, when I emerged from her musty and fast food smelling interior, slamming the driver's door while the rain pelted my ponytail, made me blink blearily into the wet while I swung my big, bulky bag over my shoulder, the black strap biting from the weight of my life carried around in it, I couldn't resist a swift kick to her front tire.

"Carol," I said with great irritation, "you suck."

She didn't bother answering. Because that would have been creepy.

At least she'd died close to the front door. A quick dash and I was safe under the awning, though I paused as I reached it, the glass swishing open in time with my arrival, and caught a bit of breath. I looked up into unexpected hazel eyes that gave me a shiver, rain or not, and a smile that showed shiny white teeth that had to have been shaped by a pro dentist. Because no one had pearlies that perfect without design.

A redhead. He was a redhead, with freckles and everything. I couldn't help but think of the famous red haired inhabitant of this Island-fictional or not-as tall, ginger and handsome spoke. "Car troubles?" He glanced over my shoulder, still smiling, still holding the door while I stared

up at him with a stupid smile on my face. Okay, I didn't know for sure it was stupid, but I had a terrible track record with flirting in general that typically devolved into stuttering and asking guys if they liked random items. Like bottled water or fish. Because I'm a freak.

Instead, this time I managed to come across as reasonably collected. Amazing. "She's a bitch." That was not what I planned to say, sounded so much clearer and cooler in my head. Didn't I just think I was collected...?

From the faint frown that creased his brow, the way his smile didn't fade even as his amusement seemed to increase, at least I hadn't scared him off, running and screaming. I caught sight of the little badge over his heart, a circle embroidered with the name "Jack" as he spoke again.

Still. Holding. The. Door. A real gentleman.

"She?" His voice was soft, melodic, deep and kind of rumbly. Yum.

"Yes." I looked back at the betraying heap of rust and beige paint. "Carol. My pathetic excuse for transportation."

When I turned back he was laughing. Not fleeing from me because I scared him off. Cool. "I'm Jack." He stuck one hand out confirming what I'd already deduced and I shook it. "Reese," I said, and happened to catch sight of myself in the glass he still held so gallantly for me. Realized I looked like some homeless person who slept in her car, and that someone had dumped half a jug of coffee down my shirt. And that my hair had somehow twisted into a mess of tangles over one shoulder, now dripping onto my heavily wrinkled jacket.

So attractive. I refused to blush. Refused. While excuses bounced around inside my head. "Listen," I said, aiming for cocky and self-confident while I winced inwardly, "I've been driving all night..."

He stepped instantly aside, as if he'd been blocking the entry-which he hadn't-all along and gestured with a grand sweep of one big hand to the interior of the coffee shop. "So sorry to keep you." Damn, now I had chased him off. "Welcome to PEI, Reese."

I waved a bit, smiled and headed past him, noting the faint scent of something I didn't recognize but immediately liked coming from him. And half turned back to the sound of the door swinging shut when he departed, wondering for a moment how he knew I was just visiting.

Um, foreign plates, dummy. And probably looked like a damned tourist, that's how. With a deep sigh and avoiding the brief scowl of the woman in the brown and pink uniform behind the counter, I scooted around to the back and into the ladies to clean up.

Just in case I might run into him again. Jack. As the door of the washroom squeaked closed and I dropped my massive bag on the counter with a thump, I groaned and rolled my eyes at my reflection in the mirror, blue gaze and twisted grimace accusing me of being an i***t before I spoke to myself.

"Right, because you don't have his number or his last name even, or any freaking clue who this guy might be." I tossed my hands before digging in my bag for my brush. At least I could sort out my hair, maybe. "And unless you plan on asking the delightfully friendly woman behind the counter the embarrassing questions you need to ask to find out who he is, you have to admit it. You're a twit." A twit who talked to her own reflection in random coffee shop bathroom mirrors.

I tugged at the knots, making faces at myself, almost missing the woman who passed behind me, though ultimately, as she paused to meet my eyes, it was really hard to not notice her. I shivered a bit, feeling the temperature in the room drop slightly, wondering why I hadn't seen her come through the door clearly closed behind me, visible through the mirror. I knew that dress, the woman with my face stopping to smile at me in her ancient attire. I stared a long moment, brush limp in my hand, before my smartass need to diffuse the creeps crawling over my skin took over.

"Guess I brought the wrong wardrobe to PEI, huh?"

She didn't comment, drifting into the bathroom stall beside me, though not before she seemed to flicker, her outfit changing in a flash to a flouncy purple affair with an honest-to-goodness crinoline beneath it. The door of the stall closed behind her and I finally turned, heart pounding, shaking all over before I lunged for where she'd just been.

"Hey! Who are you?" Bravado was never one of my strong suits, but this was just too weird. The door stuck, refusing to open. "What the...?" I dropped to my knees, peeking under the metal wall, one hand on the panel that swung as I leaned closer, inward as it suddenly released. I fell forward, catching myself before I landed on my face on the tile, staring into the empty stall with my mouth gaping open.

Yup. Empty. As in no strange lookalike lady in any kind of old dress waiting there. Which meant I was seeing things and delusional and possibly needed a CAT scan or something. Because brain tumors brought on hallucinations, right?

Worst case scenario? Bring it. Or, more likely, something I dreaded even more than death.

"I have to give up coffee," I whispered.

***