Witching You Weren’t Snowed In (Witching You #2)

Chapter 5

Leo

“I think Sage spotted me.” I placed the wheel of brie into the cart.

Valerie tossed a ball of mozzarella beside it and popped the collar of her jacket to hide her face. “She didn’t see us. We’ve been super subtle, and this place is packed.”

“Subtle is not wearing oversized sunglasses inside the supermarket. Why are you in disguise? Sage doesn’t know who you are.” I scraped a hand over my jaw. “I don’t know. This whole thing feels weird.”

“It’s only weird if we make it weird. Besides, aren’t you going to some big, fancy Thanksgiving dinner? You can’t show up empty-handed. Buy a pie or a cheese board. Now you’re shopping for real.” Valerie wheeled the cart in the direction Sage had vanished.

I internally groaned and followed. Our supermarket stakeout had been a horrible idea. Not only because you’d have to be a glutton for punishment to step foot near the market so close to Thanksgiving, but also because I still wasn’t sold on Valerie’s ‘think like a villain’ plan.

On paper, it was genius, but in the real world, it felt dirty and counterproductive to my goal. I wasn’t good at deception or taking advantage. Those were my father’s traits.

Traits I knew he wished I embodied. In some twisted form, this plan would endear me to him in a way just being his son never had. Some fathers take their sons fishing, others teach them the art of corporate takeover. Now here I was, using nefarious business tactics to hijack Sage’s help.

Apple, say hello to the tree you fell from.

Valerie, in true minion form, had texted Suzanne to get Sage’s location. Now we were following Sage around the store, trying to get intel. But unless she forgets to scan an item at self-checkout, I wasn’t sure what secrets we were supposed to uncover.

Though I noticed one thing. Valerie might be the one in enormous sunglasses, but Sage acted as if she wanted a pair too. She was hiding from people. Which didn’t make sense. She should be high-fiving our old science teacher, and waving like a pageant queen on a float while she wheeled down the bread aisle.

“I think she’s leaving,” Valerie whispered from behind a gossip magazine she’d swiped from a passing rack. “We should get in line or we’ll never get out of here in time to follow her to the next location.”

“Follow her to the next location? You sound like a private investigator gone rogue. Next time, wear your fake mustache and fedora. Except there won’t be a next time because this is stupid, and I’m going back to the lodge to come up with a rational plan. Alone.”

Valerie curled her lip in contempt and spitefully turned the page of her magazine. “This plan has many layers. It’s like an onion. Trust in the process.” She dumped the magazine into the cart and winked when another register opened and everyone in front of us moved over, clearing a path in Sage’s line. “Grab me a candy bar when it’s your turn. All this villainy has made me hangry. Oh, and I almost forgot, your skis are ready. Don’t forget to pick them up. I’ll meet you back at the lodge.”

Then she was gone, sliding through the crowd and disappearing into the parking lot. I met Sage’s gaze across the empty gap in the line. It was too late to grab Valerie’s magazine and feign interest. Instead, I wheeled the cart behind Sage and nodded a greeting, trying to appear casual.

“Who’s stalking who?” Sage muttered, peering into my cart and scanning the items. Two types of cheese and a tabloid. Her eyebrow raised. “You came here just for that?”

“No.” I cleared my throat, feeling heat climb my neck. “I need a chocolate bar, too. Can you pass me one from the candy rack?”

Sage hesitated as if my sugary request might be some elaborate grocery store ambush.

“Sure. Why not? I could use some chocolate therapy myself. It wasn’t in the article, but I’m sure it was an oversight.” She reached for the candy bar and grabbed one for herself .

“Article?”

“Never mind.”

Sage passed me the candy bar, and our fingers touched. She pulled away, wiping her hand on her jacket like she had in the tea shop. My features drew together. That had to stop. She wasn’t the only one still wounded from the incident in our past. We might not be friends anymore, but I was still a human being. It was hard enough being despised by everyone in town. But Sage, too?

Unacceptable.

The line moved, and Sage stacked her groceries on the conveyor belt.

Think Grayson! Say something engaging. Talking to women had always come easy because it never mattered what I said. Money talks fine on its own, and I wasn’t being conceited, but I considered myself fairly attractive.

Sage acted as if I looked like a troll, and it was doing a number on my attempts at witty banter. A situation where I normally shined.

“Truffle butter, huh? Whatever happened to the kind in the plastic tubs?” I joked as Sage set an odd-looking glass jar of butter on the belt.

Her lips twitched against her will, and I was pretty sure my heart expanded inside my chest.

Not too bad for a troll.

“So, big plans for Thanksgiving?” I asked as Sage bagged her groceries. One truffle butter joke hadn’t been enough to break down her walls .

“Just dinner with my parents.” She swiped her card through the reader so fast it beeped angrily and she had to do it twice.

“Yeah. I have big plans too. Some friends are throwing a dinner party. Thanks for asking.” Sage narrowed her eyes at me, but I kept talking, glancing at the items in my cart. “I’m gonna whip up a baked brie. Make some mozzarella Caprese.”

“And do a little light reading?” Sage said, mocking my tabloid.

“Gotta keep up with those celebrity scandals. It makes for great dinner conversation.”

“I bet. Good luck with your brie.” Sage grabbed her groceries and made a beeline for the parking lot.

Seriously, why did every woman in my life run for the hills the second they got the chance? Was it my aftershave? I thought women loved citrus and spice. I’m switching to pine.

“Can you scan a little faster?” I asked the teenage clerk, who’d stopped to read the cover of my tabloid. As lame as this plan was, being around Sage was a nice distraction from my almost certain business failure.

“Face it, mister,” the clerk said, scanning the magazine. “I don’t think you have a shot with her.”

Not unless Santa brings me a time machine for Christmas.

“What? You didn’t hear my truffle butter joke? I thought I nailed that one. You try making fungi quips in the checkout line.” I craned my neck, but I couldn’t spot Sage through the glass windows.

The clerk shrugged and leaned toward the microphone .

“Price check on a wheel of brie.” She flipped on the blinking register light. “It will just be a moment, sir.”

Behind me, the line groaned, and somehow, without even trying, I climbed another notch on the villain dial.

***

I parked behind the antique shop and cut the engine. So far, my day had been drenched in misery. I wasn’t any closer to fixing things with Sage and forget getting close enough to figure out any of her secrets.

The grocery store had nearly ended in a brawl with my price check fiasco. If I’d pulled out coupons or a checkbook, I wouldn’t have made it out alive.

But that was all about to change. One of my goals with the lodge had been to restore it to its previous glory. I’d hired some help, though most of the blood, sweat, and tears of the interior remodel were my own. I salvaged as much as I could. However, I splurged on one thing.

The shop was nearly empty and closing early because of the holiday, so I made my way to the counter and hit the bell. An older gentleman with tufts of white hair, wearing wire-rimmed glasses, appeared from the back. He nodded in acknowledgment and rested his wrinkled hands on the counter.

“I should have an order ready for pickup. My assistant placed it, so it’s under her name. Last name, Spellman.”

“Let’s see what we have.” The owner ran a finger down a list of names in a ledger and tapped the page. “Yes. Here it is. I’ll be right back.”

I leaned against the counter, browsing a wall of vintage clocks. The sound of footsteps creaked in the back as another shopper wandered the aisles. A flash of blonde hair tucked under a familiar ski hat caught my eye, and I shook my head, positive I was seeing things.

Sage had been on my mind nonstop and now I was mistaking her for strangers.

The man returned and placed my order on the counter.

“These are perfect,” I said, running my fingers over the wooden skis. The hickory had been varnished to a glossy shine and the name of the lodge was hand-painted across the front. They were going to look amazing hanging above the massive fireplace in the great room.

“They’re original to the area, circa 1920, and the skis have been restored and painted by a local artisan.”

The owner ran my credit card, and I signed the slip. The skis were expensive but worth the price for the added appeal of another era. While he wrapped the order, I glanced toward the back of the shop. The shopper hummed a Christmas carol, and the soft voice sounded familiar.

“Ms. Bennett, we’re closing soon,” the owner announced as he finished wrapping the skis.

“I’m almost finished!” Sage shouted, still hidden from view down the aisle .

No way. A surprised chuckle rumbled in my chest. What were the odds? I held up a finger, signaling to the owner I'd return to collect my skis, then quietly walked to the back of the shop.

Sage leaned close to the shelf, her hand moving in a slow circle around what appeared to be an old bowling trophy. As I watched, the words on the plaque blurred and her name appeared beneath a title.

She huffed air between her cheeks and let out a curse.

“No one is going to believe they gave me this trophy for Agent of the Year,” she mumbled, removing it from the shelf to examine the faux gold statue closer. “The man is clearly bowling.”

I held my breath, afraid even the whisper of air might give me away. Sage had lied about winning the award. I didn't blame her for a second. Not after witnessing the scene in her parents’ tea shop and seeing the excitement around town. It was an act of preservation. I would have done the same.

But suddenly, I had leverage.

No. Walk away. You already screwed things up once.

My feet stayed rooted to the hardwood. I needed her help, and she'd made it clear she wanted nothing to do with me. If I was a better man, I'd listen. Things between us were messy enough. She'd hate me even more if I forced her to work with me.

Then again, even the Grinch had a redemption arc.

Before I changed my mind, I stepped closer, watching as she tensed .

“Caught you,” I said, leaning casually against one of the shelves.

Shock morphed across her face as she recognized me, and she fumbled with the statue, accidentally letting it slip between her fingers. It hit the floor with a crash, separating the bowler’s head from its body.

“Leo…it's, um, not what you think,” she stammered, her cheeks going pink with embarrassment. I bit back a smile.

First, I’d found her covered in flour, and now she was adorably flustered and the perpetrator of a trophy slaying. Chaos followed her wherever she went, and it only made me want to stay close to see what would happen next.

Playing the villain had its perks, and now all I had to do was stick to the plan.