She called her best friend, Hudson, but he was in the city with his boyfriend, Scott. That was odd—hadn’t Hudson mentioned on Friday as they had closed the library that he would be in North Hampton “all weekend long,” hard at work on that dissertation for his doctorate in Romance languages at Harvard? Ingrid had helped him pick out a few salient books for his research. How many years was it now that he had been working on his PhD? Was it going on eight? No wonder, thought Ingrid, shaking her head at her friend, if he was running off to the city to go shopping when he promised to buckle down.
Her pride kept her from calling Matt and admitting she had free time.
It was noon on a Saturday. A long, solitary weekend stretched ahead. Who else might she call? Tabitha? But she remembered Tab and Chad were off on their babymoon to some resort in the Bahamas.
Dejected, Ingrid walked into the kitchen to make a sandwich. But because her rebellious teen of a mother had vanished on a joy ride, the fridge was nearly empty. An expired yogurt. Limp carrots. Old Chinese food in to-go containers from Hung Sung Lo’s. Ugh! Part of Freya’s genius was scaring up a meal when there was barely a thing left in the fridge and cupboards. Ingrid longed to hear her sister’s laughter, wished Freya was in the kitchen making one of those magical meals, the two of them talking about anything that came to mind.
She needed to get out of this gloomy, quiet house. She would grab a panini at the local café, bring a newspaper, catch up on current events. She had become such a bore with her head stuck in the seventeenth century and had no idea about what was going on in the world lately. Tabitha had been appalled when Ingrid had admitted she hadn’t known the actor who played a young hipster in the show Williamsburg had died in a plane crash last week, one of those little four-seater jets.
Ingrid had never even heard of that show.
A scattering of clouds hung low on the horizon, but overhead, the sky was a clear robin’s egg blue. It was cold but the breeze smelled of the sea, and there were a number of winter tourists about, who liked the cheaper rates and had been lucky enough to find their way to the charming little town. When Ingrid arrived at Geppetto’s, the café at the end of the park, the outdoor tables in the covered and heated patio were all taken. The hostess came over, asking how many were joining her.
Ashamed of being alone, Ingrid glanced down. “Just me,” she muttered.
The girl smiled as if she pitied her. “Great!” she said on a high note, then gave Ingrid the once-over. “I’ll see what I can do.” She pivoted on her heel.
Ingrid stood in line, her purse dangling off a shoulder, her newspaper in hand. She lifted her sunglasses onto the crown of her head and scanned the tables. Someone was waving. Matt. She started. He was sitting with Maggie and a gorgeous-looking brunette in big dark sunglasses. Who was this woman who was leaning toward Matt, whispering something in his ear, looking a little too intimate for Ingrid’s taste. Maggie looked up and saw Ingrid, and began flailing her arms.
“Over here!” the young girl greeted.
Ingrid had no other choice than to make her way toward them.
“Hey!” said Matt. “What are you doing here? I thought you were busy all weekend.”
“I am. I, uh… just needed a break and something to eat. I do have to get back to work,” she lied. She patted her bun, making sure it was in place.
The woman removed her sunglasses and stared expectantly at Ingrid, smiling. Something about her recalled an elegant Italian movie star, like a Sophia Loren or Claudia Cardinale. She was the opposite of Ingrid: busty, hourglass shaped, dark, sensual looking. Matt had compared Ingrid to Grace Kelly, but next to this bombshell she felt pale, thin, and gangly.
Maggie stared at Ingrid with her big, watchful eyes. “The stuffed clams are to die for. Come, sit with us!”
Ingrid felt at a loss and the woman elbowed Matt, giving him a look. “Matthew!” she chastised. There seemed an ease and familiarity between them.
It felt as if the ground, which had already been shaky when she saw them, completely dropped from beneath Ingrid. Her pulse sped.
Matt looked a little uncomfortable as he made the introductions. “Ingrid, this is Mariza Valdez, Maggie’s mom. Mariza this is Ingrid!”
“Yes, of course.” Mariza smiled. “Margarita talks so much about you.”
Oh right, of course, Ingrid thought. She had completely forgotten that there was a mom in the picture. Ingrid couldn’t help but note that Mariza called Matt by his full name (“Matthew,” which sounded so sexy somehow) and Maggie “Margarita”—had she been wrong in calling her Maggie? But Matt called her Maggie. The woman reached out a hand, and Ingrid shook it.
“Delighted!” Ingrid said with a smile that hurt her cheeks.
The hostess had come around with a couple to seat them at the table that had cleared beside them.
“Mari!” cooed the woman being seated as she looked their way.
“Rowena!” Mariza cried.
Rowena and Mariza fawned over each other, each saying how great the other looked. Ingrid glanced at Matt, who rolled his eyes. He motioned for her to sit beside him. Maggie continued to smile at her imploringly. The whole situation was growing more awkward by the second.
Rowena Thomas.
She had been one of Ingrid’s clients back in the days when she provided her once-popular counseling services at the back of the library. She hadn’t seen Rowena in a while. Shortly after Freya’s disappearance, Ingrid had abandoned the “witching hour,” as Hudson facetiously called it, forever the skeptic about Ingrid’s “witching abilities.” She didn’t love Hudson any less for doubting her, but in a way her mortal friend was right. Her magic had grown ineffective, and she had begun to feel like a sham. Now her office remained locked at lunch hour, a note on the door explaining that counseling services would resume at a later date. Ingrid had made Rowena a talisman for her mother’s kidney problems and also a love knot or two or three. Rowena had been desperate to fall in love.
And now, horror of horrors, Ingrid spied Rowena’s date: Blake Aland, the smarmy developer whose efforts at destroying the library Ingrid had successfully squelched, the same one whose advances she had spurned. This was proof that Ingrid’s magic had gone utterly awry or was plain all out. All those love knots hadn’t done Rowena any favors. She and Blake exchanged cold nods.
“Ingrid!” Rowena cried out. “Oh, my God, Mari, you need to see Ingrid! She’s amaaaazing! She totally helped me. I found Blake! Maybe she can make a special something so you and Matt finally tie the knot.” Laughing, she turned to Ingrid, explaining, “We all went to NoHa High together. These two have been in love for-ev-er! They just won’t admit it.”