Witch Is the New Black, page 21
Yep, he’d have to see Cozy at some point.
Yep, he’d have to face his brother Ridge, too.
Yep, he relished the very thought.
Welcome back to Paris, Texas, Finn Donovan.
So glad y’all came back so soon.
* * * *
The next evening, Jorge lifted his tan head from his orthopedic dog bed set atop the piano Cozy stood beside and groaned long and loud as Flora Watkins approached them.
“Oh look, another festive doggie diaper from the knitting club. How in the spirit of giving,” he remarked in his typical dry tone.
“You hush, my little outspoken Spaniard,” Cozy whispered-yelled, giving him the eye. “They do it out of love. Besides, it’s not like you couldn’t use another diaper.”
Flora, another one of her favorite feisty seniors, sidled up to Cozy and patted her on the back with a warm smile.
“Is this a bribe, young lady?” she asked the senior teasingly. “I’m sorry, but you still can’t be the Great Christmas Tree, Flora. Yes, your epic recreation of branches on a Noble Fir is undoubtedly on par with Meryl Streep’s performance in Sophie’s Choice, but Clive was given the part because he picked it out of the hat. You guys decided how the picking would go. So, fair is fair. But remember, you make a mean angel number two. No one could play the part quite like you. Everyone says so.”
Flora shook her head and gave her arm a squeeze, handing her the red-and-green doggie diaper with intricate snowflakes knitted into the band across the waistline.
“Even though I’d make a far better Christmas tree than ol’ Clive, and it’s true, you’re keepin’ me from winning an Academy Award—”
“Okay, then also no ‘A Very Zombie Christmas’. It was a great idea, Flora, but I think the vote from the other seniors said it all, don’t you? Also, some of the Council is part zombie. They have to be, to be as old as they are and still manage to roam the earth. I’m convinced they eat brains to keep them upright,” she joked. “We don’t want to offend our core audience, do we? What would that do to our demographic?”
Flora chuckled at Cozy’s poke at the Council then suddenly sobered. “That’s not why I’m here, honey.”
Cozy set her clipboard down on the piano, positioned in the middle of the rec room of the center, and tilted her head. “Is everything okay?”
She pointed to the diaper. “We hope Jorge likes it.”
Ah. More diapers. She’d grown so used to keeping the seniors from going to battle over their parts in the pageant, she’d forgotten how sweet they could be.
Cozy grinned at Flora and held up the diaper for her familiar to see. “Look, Jorge! Christmas diapers. Aren’t you the luckiest familiar in the world to have so many people who love you and want to keep you dry? Say thank you,” she prompted.
If Jorge could roll his eyes she was sure he would have. Instead, he stretched his stout, ironically long body and muttered. “Gracias, mi amiga. I can’t tell you how over the moon I am to have yet another way to advertise my incontinence to the general public in bright, festive colors that not only enhance—”
Cozy wrapped loose fingers around Jorge’s muzzle, effectively cutting him off. His incontinence was a sore subject all the snazzy diapers in the world weren’t going to make better.
She turned and smiled at Flora. “Jorge says thank you and Feliz Navidad. So are you ready for rehearsal? Got your vocal chords all flexed and ready to rumble?”
Flora’s weathered face grew hesitant. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Now, aside from the new diaper we knitted for Jorge, and before we get going, I want to be sure you’re okay, sugar.”
She fought the shortness of breath she’d been fighting for almost twenty-four hours since she’d found out Finn was back in town. One day later, and a slew of pep talks to herself in the mirror, along with one from Winnie, who’d called to profusely apologize, and she was pretty sure she had a handle on it.
“You mean Finn, right?”
Flora’s eyes grew fiery as she tucked her hand-knit, baby-blue sweater around her middle. “I do. He’s a dirtball, scum-sucking, douchenozzle pig.”
Cozy barked a laugh. If she couldn’t count on the seniors to defend her then she couldn’t count on anyone. The moment they’d heard Finn was back, they’d rallied, circling their wagons like warriors, assuring her they’d stake him at dawn if he so much as looked at her wrong.
She gave Flora’s cool hand a squeeze. “It’s okay, Flora. I’m a big girl. I can handle it. Besides, we probably won’t see each other at all. Calla made sure he’s here during the day doing cleanup, and I’m here at night to rehearse with you guys well after suppertime. I think all parolees have a curfew or something. We probably won’t ever even cross paths—”
“Clive, get your Tiger Balm out and warm up those old fingers. We got a jackass walking!” Gus shouted from somewhere in the back of the room by the air hockey table.
Perfect. From the tone of Gus’s voice, apparently, Disappearing Spice had arrived.
Cozy’s heart punched the inside of her chest with a right hook. She didn’t want to turn around, but if she didn’t, Finn would know he’d broken her, at least for a little while anyway. No way was she going to allow him the upper hand.
This was her damn town. She’d lived here almost all her life, just like him. She wasn’t the one who’d left her family farm in disrepair and skulked off into the night without a solitary word.
She wasn’t the one who’d duped everyone.
And she wasn’t going to wander around like the victim. No more poor, poor Cozy Meadows, dumped by gorgeous, stupidhead Finn Donovan.
So she had two choices. Turn around and face the music, head held high. Or run.
Far. Fast. Away.
Her feet and her bruised heart liked option number two. But her pride and her grit said, “Blow me, Donovan.”
Composing herself while the seniors gathered in clusters just waiting for her to fall into a puddle of her teardrops, she squared her shoulders and turned around.
She waffled momentarily because she’d forgotten how utterly gorgeous Finn was. He never failed to steal her breath with his deep green eyes and hair the color of a starless Texas night.
He stood there by the Christmas tree they’d all decorated as a group just a week ago—as breathtaking as always.
Okay, maybe she’d forgotten his amazing body and the ripples of muscles beneath his comically small, very pink T-shirt that read, “Keep Calm And Paint Your Nails”, and only came to about an inch or so above his waistband, or his bulging thighs encased in a pair of plaid golf pants clearly too tight for him.
But the hell she’d let it show.
He leaned against a broom, crossing his bunny-slipper-clad feet at the ankles while waiting for her to speak first.
“Nice outfit. You shopping blindfolded these days?” she asked, pointing a finger at his shirt.
The seniors snickered.
But he grinned. The bastard. He had the gall to grin—perfect, devastatingly handsome, dimples and all.
“You don’t approve? I picked out this shirt from the bin of Goodwill donations at Winnie and Ben’s with you in mind. I know how much you like to get your nails done in the color pink. I’m a little hurt you disapprove.”
No. Nada. Nope. He would not remind her how turned on he claimed to get whenever she talked about her love of all things girlie. Finn had always said it made him hot all over just thinking about her pink-dipped nails wrapped around the handle of a hammer. He’d loved that she was both handy and feminine to the core.
Instead, she stared at him with a blank expression. She’d read somewhere, if you didn’t want your nemesis to know you gave a shit, be indifferent. It was like death to someone trying to get a rise out of you.
Indifferent girl was indifferent.
Finn’s eyes searched hers as though he hadn’t a care in the world.
“What? No witty retort? No saucy banter?” he asked, jamming his hands into his plaid pants with an innocent tilt to his head.
Rather than engage, she decided it was a better idea to be clear about her feelings. Not the old torn-to-shreds feelings. The new ones she was going to work like a dog to cultivate.
“Do you have a minute?”
Finn raised a lone eyebrow and shot her a lazy smile. “For you? I have a lifetime.” His deep voice resonated in her ears, making her fight a shiver.
Gritting her teeth, Cozy pointed to the dimly lit hallway leading toward the kitchen without looking back at him.
His heavy footsteps behind her reminded her of the hundred and one times he’d chased her down the hall of his family’s ranch house as they raced to his bedroom to make love.
And even as her heart crashed in her chest and her legs felt like so much butter, she whipped around and pointed a finger at him and his stupid pink T-shirt that was too tight across his chest and showed off every muscle he owned.
As he leaned the broom against the wall as if they were going to have a casual conversation about where to eat for dinner, Cozy attacked.
“Let’s be really clear on one thing. You’re a bag of dicks. A tried-and-true snake. You left here without a word on the day we were going to announce our engagement. I don’t want to remind you of not just the work the people of this town went to in order to throw us an engagement party, but the feelings you trashed in the process by callously skipping on out of here like you’d found the secret hangout for unicorns. You suck. You suck so many hairy balls your cheeks look like the pouch of a greedy hamster. You deserted me. And I defended you. In fact, most of your closest friends did, too. We rallied. We searched. We called. We all but sent in the rescue ninjas—”
“Rescue ninjas? We have those now? I was only locked up for a few months, but boy have things changed. You crazy witches, always with the latest trends,” he joked, clearly amused before he took a step closer, the scent of his freshly washed hair wafting to her nose.
“Shut. Up!” she hissed, stomping her foot. “Don’t speak another word. You’re not allowed to speak—not ever. Not to me, not to the people who clung to the hope you were alive for two agonizing months until someone saw you in a bar in Galveston, throwing back a bottle of whiskey next to a hot blonde with big poofy lips. You hurt me. You hurt me bad. I trusted you. I loved you. But I don’t anymore. In fact, I’d rather have my fingernails pulled out one by one than so much as glance your way.”
Finn’s mouth began to open in protest, but she clamped his perfect lips shut with two fingers.
“So now you’re here in Paris again. Ironically working off your time where I spend at least three nights a week, rehearsing with the seniors. I don’t have any say in the matter. If I did, I’d never have to look at you again because I would have waved my fancy magic wand and shipped you off to the farthest point of the earth. So that said, because I don’t have a choice in this, stay the hell away from me, Finn. Don’t talk to me. Don’t try to worm your way back into my good graces with your stupid jokes and your stupider charm. Don’t pretend nothing horrible happened between us. Just leave me in peace and I’ll do the same for you. Got that, Fugitive?”
Finn stared at her for a moment—one that felt like forever, his eyes penetrating hers, deep and intense, making her cheeks flush.
And before she even realized it was happening, Finn snaked his strong arm around her waist and hauled her close until every inch of her was pressed to every inch of him, making her nipples tighten and her breath catch in her throat.
He wasted no time pressing his talented lips to hers and soundly kissing the life out of her, slipping his silken tongue into her mouth and stroking her own before letting her drop to the ground with a thunk of her heels.
Finn grabbed the broom he’d leaned against the wall and winked. “Damn, I’ve missed you, darlin’. It’s daggone good to be home,” he said before sauntering off to the kitchen, the bunny ears on his slippers flopping as he went.
“Depends Patrol!” she heard Clive Stillwell yelp from the other end of the hallway, where everyone had gathered in a cluster to watch the big showdown. “Let’s take him out!”
Cozy instantly flapped a hand up to stop them, inhaling deeply and trying to find her center. “It’s okay, guys. Really. I’m fine.”
“Yer cheeks sure don’t say yer fine,” Clive remarked, the pine tree branches in the pocket of his plaid flannel shirt—so he could properly get into character—askew.
Cozy’s shaky hands flew to her cheeks in guilt. “It’s just warm in here. Really, guys. I’m fine. It’s like it never happened.”
Glenda-Jo Ledbetter smoothed her hands over her graying hair before pulling the top of her housecoat outward and fanning herself. “Well, I’m glad somebody’s okay, because heaven and the sweet baby J! Phew, that man does things to my insides he shouldn’t be doin’ at my age.”
Flora nudged her hard with a disapproving scoff. “Hush, Glenda-Jo! He’s a dickknuckle. No swooning over the jerk or you’re betrayin’ our girl here.”
Glenda-Jo narrowed her eyes at Flora and planted her hands on her plump hips. “I never, not for one cotton-pickin’ second, thought he left without a dang good reason. Don’t know what the reason is, just know it was big. Feel it in my gut. Y’all will see. Mark my words. That hunk’s here to prove me right, too, and it’ll be just like a Christmas miracle. Until then, I’m gonna keep right on swoonin’ because he’s worthy o’ my undivided swoon.”
Gus made a disgusted face at Glenda-Jo and wrapped an arm around Cozy’s waist, pinching her cheek with grizzled fingers. “S’all right, Cozy-Coo. If ain’t none o’ these hens got your back, me and Clive do. You want we should shoot the bastard? Clive’s still real good at turnin’ a spell. You can still do the one where ya give him a goat’s head and the legs of a stork, right?”
Clive blustered, his weathered face sheepish as he smiled at Cozy with a raised fist. “Darn tootin’, I can. I’ll make him so sorry he ever thought ’bout doin’ ya wrong.”
Flora bobbed her head, her smile sly, her eyes narrowed. “Just this mornin’ I made sure I ‘accidentally’ spilled my whole lunch tray right at the foot of his ugly bunny slippers. Got creamed corn and mashed potatoes all over the dang place.”
“Yeah,” Norman Biddles agreed, pushing his Coke-bottle glasses up on his long nose. “And if you want? I can make sure my spastic colon kicks in. He’ll be cleanin’ the toilet for days!”
Cozy fought a giggle, still trying to keep her insides from jiggling out of control. Clapping her hands, she hitched her jaw toward the rec room.
“All right, you bunch. I appreciate the gang-like support. It means everything to me. But no animal mashups and men’s room mishaps, okay? I’m fine. Swear it on my hairspray and new lipstick. Now let’s get a move on and go get some more practice in. We really need to work on ‘Mele Kalikimaka’. The chorus is still a little rough. Bing Crosby and the Andrew Sisters would have apoplexy if they heard us mangle that song,” she reminded them.
“That’s cuz Gussie here can’t pronounce the words,” Clive said on a chuckle, giving Gus a playful elbow to his ribs.
As they made their way back into the rec room, Cozy paused for a moment and fought the urge to cry.
She would not cry over this man. She would not investigate why such a snake could still stir up so many deep emotions in her heart. He didn’t deserve that.
No more tears.
Chapter 3
“So, let’s talk about this,” Jorge encouraged in his light accent as he trotted slowly beside her on their walk back to her basement apartment, his diapered belly scraping the ground.
“Talk about what?”
Jorge sighed. “Let’s not beat around the bush, Jefe. We’ve been together a long time—”
“You mean since that dark and scary night when I saved you from that knife fight in the middle of the mean streets of Tijuana,” she reminded him with a snicker.
“Yes, yes, my hero. Thank God for you and your magical time-stopping abilities or I’d have ended up either dead from the cold blade of El Guapo’s knife or in some dreadful puppy mill. I’m not worthy. You’re so courageous. It was fate that you happened to be lost while you were on vacation and ran into helpless me. This is me all attitude and gratitude. Blah, blah, blah. Now, the point here is this, you were wrecked over Finn. In fact, I’d say you still are. How do you feel about him being here now?”
She shrugged and hauled her favorite red purse over her shoulder, the bells attached to it jingling. She couldn’t address the freshly opened wound just yet. Not even with Jorge, who’d been through it all right by her side, steadfast and true.
Instead, Cozy replied with a monotone, “I feel fine.”
Jorge stopped right in front of Mrs. Meacham’s picket fence, decorated with blinking colored lights. “You lie. Tell me how we’re going to get through this. It was pretty obvious tonight that he still has feelings for you.”
“Uh, no. That was Finn trying to get a rise out of me, which I refuse to give him. I haven’t seen him in months and he saunters back in here like this is some big joke and lays one on me as though we’re still engaged? Like he didn’t hurt people? No. No amount of charm and gorgeous flashes of his perfect teeth are going to make this right. He disappeared, Jorge.”
“Cozy—”
“End subject, amigo, or I’ll make you wear that diaper with the fancy glittering snowmen on it all season long.”
She picked up their leisurely pace again, keeping her eyes on the ground to combat her hot cheeks and the rushing pound of her pulse in her ears. Damn Finn. Why did he have to come back now? Just when she’d settled into her routine, jam-packed as it was. Things were a helluva lot better than they’d been in months.
“Cozy?”
“Uh-huh?”
“It still hurts like hell, doesn’t it?”
