Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 98961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“Yeah. I…I…thought I saw a spider.” Why did I jump up? I get a sharp pain in my head, and suddenly it feels like someone is squeezing my wrists as tight as they can. Something is wrong. I sit back down and grab my phone from my purse, tapping the screen to make sure Easton or Abby didn’t text me saying they’re in grave danger or something like that.
I can’t get The Taproom out of my head, and I decide to go there after work. I text Easton and tell him I got held up at the office and will be a little later meeting him at Navy Pier. The bar isn’t open this early on a Tuesday afternoon, but maybe walking by will do something to jog my memory. I’m going to have to hustle, as it’ll take pretty much all my allotted time for lunch just driving to and from Lincoln Park. I get dropped off right in front and slowly walk toward the door. Metal blinds are drawn, making it impossible to see in. Still, I cup my hands around my face and try to peer through the door.
Biting my lip, I take a step back and knock. Not thinking anyone will answer, I shake my head at myself for even thinking someone would be inside and start to walk away.
“Hey,” a woman calls after me, opening the door. I spin around and see a thin blonde woman leaning out, holding her hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun.
“Monica,” I say, her name coming to me for some reason.
“Yeah, that’s me.” She smiles and steps back, waving me in. “I gotta close the door. Boss man doesn’t like when it’s open.”
I hesitate, knowing how stupid going into a bar by myself like this could be. But I need to find out why this place is so familiar. Gripping the strap of my purse, I step inside behind Monica. She quickly shuts the door and I blink a few times, eyes adjusting to the dim light coming from above the bar.
Looking around, I get hit with another wave of familiarity. My eyes go to a booth in the back, and I remember sitting there not that long ago—and Abby was with me.
“You’re not who I ordered.”
I snap my attention to a hall, where another blonde woman is standing. She’s absolutely gorgeous, with her long blonde hair hanging around her face in waves. Her pink dress hugs her slim body and she takes a few steps forward, heels clicking on the floor. She reminds me of a fairy princess, and there’s a weird energy coming off of her making me think that she just might be.
“No, she’s not.” A man appears behind her and my eyes widen as I look at him, taking in his chiseled jawline, full lips, and dark blue eyes. It’s the man I’ve been getting flashes of, and now that he’s here, standing right in front of me, I have the strangest urge to fling my arms around him. Eyes set on me, he speeds forward, almost looking shocked when I don’t flinch. He leans in and inhales. “She’s a witch.”
And then it all comes crashing back. “Holy shit, I am a witch!” I blink and let out a breath. “Lucas. Oh my God, Lucas!” Tears fill my eyes and I go to him, to my husband and envelope my arms around him. His body is hard and cool, and his non-beating heart brings me instant comfort when I press my face to his chest.
And then everything goes black.
Chapter
Seventeen
“Morning, babe.”
My eyes fly open and I sit straight up. “What the fuck is going on?”
“Callie? Are you still asleep and having a bad dream?”
“I’m starting to think this is all a dream.”
“What?” Easton asks with a chuckle. “Are you talking in your sleep again?”
“Maybe somewhere.” I turn and look at him, really look at him. “I just can’t figure out if you’re here with me.”
“Of course, I’m here.” Easton takes my hand. “You’re starting to freak me out, babe.”
“I hate being called babe,” I say. “And you remember that from when we dated that summer I was home from the Academy.”
“We’ve dated over lots of summers.”
“No.” I shake my head and flip Easton’s hand over. “You’re supposed to have a scar here.” I run my finger down the pulse point of his wrist. “From when a demon knocked you out, tied you to a table, and tried to drain your blood. We joked it was a good thing he didn’t know to go down the alley and instead went across the street and your stepdad was able to get to you in time. You lost a lot of blood but still kicked that demon’s ass.”
Easton snatches his hand back, looking rattled. Not because I sound like a crazy person talking about demons, but because he remembers it.