Bewitching Exclusive Excerpt:They walked to the corner of the busy, three-way intersection of North, Damen, and Milwaukee and waited for the light. The curb was steep, as if the street had been lowered at one point, so Jolene took an extra-long step when the light changed. Cass mimicked her and kept flush to her side.
“I've seen you a few times but never said hi,” he said as they made their way to the park.
“That would have been weird,” she replied, thinking of how much she wouldn't have appreciated that friendly gesture. “You're just supposed to nod or something when you recognize people you don't actually know.”
“Is that right? What would you have done if I'd said hello?” His playful tone warmed her where she had no business warming.
“I would have said ‘hey’, but I'd be judging you the whole time.” They cut into the park and headed toward the fountain sitting in the center of the concrete patio. “I'd be wondering what the hell was wrong with you.”
He chuckled and sighed dramatically. “So many things.”
“Like what?” This was the first time in forever she could take the time to make friends with someone. The moment was normal and easy, and she'd forgotten what it was like to just be a normal person for two damn minutes.
When he smiled, she noticed his crooked tooth again. “I’m an artist, but I haven't been able to paint much lately. I've had some kind of creative blockage, and it’s made me unsettled, like it might be permanent.”
They walked past the baseball diamond on their left, houses on their right.
He nudged her with his elbow. “So, what's wrong with you?”
She should have anticipated he'd quid pro quo her on her faults. Although she couldn't tell him everything—and wouldn't if she could—she found herself wanting to tell him only true things. “I'm a recovering alcoholic, and I'm told I mention that too often. Apparently, some people think that after someone stays sober beyond a certain milestone, they're supposed to consider themselves cured, like it's cancer or something. You paint for a living?”
Cass nodded.
“What kind of stuff?” She hoped he didn't talk in art terms, like perspective or . . . Perspective was the only art term her brain conjured.
“Abstracts, mostly.”
“Is that because you can't draw people?”
He laughed. “Harsh.”
Oh shit, that was rude. “I don't know anything about art.”
“I could do portraits if I wanted.” He grinned, but an edge had crept into his voice. “But I don't have a spark to paint something a camera captures better.”
Good point.
“I don't want to be confined to what I can see with my eye.” He sighed. “But right now, I’m halfway through a painting, and I can’t finish it. That’s why I have to leave the house every day. Otherwise, I might cut off an ear in frustration.”
“Van Gogh was considered a success only after he died, so I wouldn’t go emulating that guy.”
His hand bumped hers as they walked. They both mumbled apologies and shifted apart, though not far. A comfortable silence knit them together.
He smiled. “What do you do?”
She wished she had a cover job not meant to incite boredom. “Medical billing.” After that landed, she pushed on. “Despite what anyone believes about the insurance industry, I like to think of myself as helping people. Not as exciting as being an artist.”
“How did you get into the medical billing business?”
He was the first man on Earth to not want to talk about himself. Or she hadn't hit upon the right topic yet. But she didn't want to discuss her fake job when it was such a beautiful day. The drowsy energy between them made her want to hum. “I don't want to think about work.”
“Okay. What do you do for fun?” Their hands brushed again. He didn't edge away from her this time or acknowledge the contact.
She swallowed the urge to apologize. Had she done it on purpose without realizing it? “Exercising. Running.”
“Do you ever run on the 606?” he asked.
“All the time.” The 606 was a short walk away. The lakefront had a longer running pathway and a better breeze but getting there required a bus ride. The lake path took her close to Navy Pier, close to where her friend Kiera lived—had lived—likely still lived. She wasn’t supposed to contact anyone from her previous life, so being near Kiera’s condo felt like holding her palm over a candle flame. She dared herself to come as near as possible, even if it burned her.
“Want to run together sometime?”
“Sure,” she replied, because that's what people did, proposed vague plans to meet when they had no intention of doing so.
They both took sips from their drinks. He tapped his cup with an index finger. “What about tomorrow?”
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