Karma's Sense: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Valentine's Day Story Read online

  KARMA’S SENSE

  MAGICAL MIDLIFE IN MYSTIC HOLLOW: 5

  LACEY CARTER

  L.A. BORUFF

  HELEN SCOTT

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Also By L.A. Boruff

  Also By Helen Scott

  Also By Lacey Carter

  About the Author

  About the Author

  About the Author

  ONE

  Deva

  * * *

  It had been a long night, not that I minded. Life as a witch had always been interesting, which was just the way I liked it. But since Emma had come back to town, it was… both more exciting and dangerous all at once. Truthfully, there was a time when I wouldn’t have appreciated more complications in my life, but since my marriage ended and my daughters moved away, it was nice to have something outside of the cafe.

  A reason to get up beyond work.

  There was just something inside of me lately that said work and friends weren’t enough any longer. I might have the best friends in the world, but they didn’t fill that strange void in my chest that had been missing since my children moved away. And after a long day filled with near-death experiences, and seeing that Emma and Daniel seemed to have found a second chance at love, I felt myself yearning for the same thing.

  But what do I do with this feeling?

  Carol had long since gone to bed after our crew took out Joel and all managed to get away mostly unhurt. So, for once since I moved in with my best friend, I had a little bit of time to myself. Time to think about what I wanted for the rest of my life. I know it was not getting back with Harry, my love for him had died long ago. I also knew it was not a life alone though. As much as I said my cafe was my love, it couldn’t love me back.

  No, I needed a person, not a thing.

  Eyeing the hallway that led to our bedrooms, I double checked that there were no signs of Carol, then opened the drawer of the table next to the couch and fished around until I found the hidden bag. Inside, was one small piece of pink fudge. A recipe I’d only made once and never planned to make again.

  A love spell.

  But not exactly.

  I made it on my first Valentine’s Day after leaving Harry. It was tied to the day with powerful magic. Essentially, it was less a love spell and more a spell that would open me up to love, if I was ready, and ensured that whatever was meant to happen would happen before the next Valentine’s Day.

  Power hummed through the spell, calling to me, but my stomach did a little flip. I knew the spell wouldn’t bring me someone who would hurt me. I knew the spell wouldn’t bring me another person like Harry, but there were still parts of me that remembered how lonely I was in my marriage, even more lonely than I was well… well, when I left him and was actually alone. I don’t exactly remember when I finally had enough of my loveless marriage, when I finally said that I needed more.

  Which is strange. I should remember something that important, shouldn’t I?

  I should. My gut said I should. That knowing the catalyst might be the thing to finally make me eat this fudge. The thing to finally open myself up to this spell.

  Going to the kitchen, I went and mixed up a little cup of tea, weaving into it a familiar spell. A spell to awaken my memories. When I was done, chamomile and my grandmother’s perfume wafted from the hot cup, and I felt tears blur my eyes. My grandmother was a special lady. But that was not what tonight was about. I closed my eyes, whispered the words I needed to say, then chugged the full mug, feeling the liquid burn its way down my throat.

  My head spun a bit as I went back to the couch and collapsed onto it, and then, before I knew it, memories pulled me under.

  * * *

  I straightened the chalkboard proudly displaying our house specials. Since it was so close to the New Year, I’d decided to go with Lucky Black-Eyed Peas as the number one special. It might have been a little bit of an unconventional choice, but I knew the dish was good, and that the magic weaved into it would do the trick. I’d made it so anyone who ordered the beans with my special blend of herbs and spices would literally find themselves having good luck for as long as the food was in the person’s system.

  And who couldn’t use a little good luck? I release a slow breath. I certainly could, especially today.

  Our other specials included Sparkling Smoked Salmon, which would make the diner happy, and Accomplished Avocado Toast, which would help with success. Humans wouldn’t know that there was magic weaved into the dishes, but it didn’t change the fact that the magic would work on them. My ability to make people feel through my food was one of the main reasons all my closest friends had thought this was the perfect business for me, along with the fact that cooking was easily one of my favorite things to do in the world.

  But it still doesn’t mean this business will be successful. I bite my lip, staring at the board, wondering if my writing was a little too crooked. I needed everything to be perfect, even if perfection was impossible.

  At least the other witches will be sure to come.

  The local witches knew how to order exactly what they wanted too, which made this whole thing a lot easier. Everyone on my staff was witch-aware, and my sous chef, Vic, knew most of my recipes. He was a competent warlock who I’d carefully selected. The kid was young, barely older than my oldest daughter, but he’d been trained well and came from a long line of warlocks. He didn’t know all my tricks, of course. But enough to keep the kitchen fired up when I couldn’t be here.

  I’ve done everything I need to in order to ensure I’m successful, so why am I still so nervous?

  “Deva,” Vic said, a smile in his voice. “It’s time.”

  I glanced back at him, standing in the kitchen doorway. The warlock looked even younger somehow in his white uniform with the logo for my cafe on the pocket, and the white apron over his black pants. But he also had that little sparkle of excitement in his eyes, the same one I got when I was cooking. I knew that even though he was working hard to look like a professional, he was practically bouncing on his heels inside.

  I wish I felt that way today.

  “Is Harry here?” I try not to let the hopefulness inside me come out in the question, but it does.

  My husband was supposed to be here for the grand opening. He’d promised. Usually, his promises meant nothing. He’d get caught up in a game, or with housework, and I’d end up disappointed. Years ago I’d stopped being disappointed, mostly, I just told myself that if he did end up coming to something that was important to me, I’d be happy.

  But something about finally achieving a dream I’ve had since I was a kid made it really important to me that my husband be here. I’d told him I wanted him here over and over again until he’d gotten annoyed with me. To get me off his back, he’d finally given me his word that he would be here, rain or shine, and early.

  Early had come and gone though, and he still wasn’t here. Still, the hope that he’d arrive any second with flowers in his hand and a smile on his face was there.

  But to my utter disappointment, Vic shook his head. “No, I’m sorry.”

  I tried not to let it show. I didn’t want my shoulders to slump. Of course, Harry wasn’t coming. Wasn’t there a replay of one of his favorite games on today? Yeah, he’d set it to record, but he hated watching sports when they were recorded… even old games. I knew that about him. After more than 15 years of marriage, I knew everything about him.

  So why did I think today would be any different? Why did I think his promise meant he’d be here? I almost laughed. And I’d imagined him arriving with a smile and flowers. Was I a complete fool? If Harry came, he’d do what he always did when he didn’t want to be somewhere. He’d sit in the corner silently, glaring, complaining under his breath, and absolutely destroying my mood in the process.

  Which he’d pointed out time and time again was my problem. He said I was in charge of my own emotions, and if he showed up somewhere, I should just be grateful. I saw the logic in what he said, even if it still hurt.

  Still, I forced a smile when I realized Vic was still staring at me, a little of the sparkle gone from his eyes. Vic didn’t need to know about the problems Harry and I were having. He deserved to just enjoy today without the complications that came from being an older lady with a grumpy partner.

  “No problem, I guess he was busy,” I said and followed Vic toward the kitchen. “Let’s do this.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be here.” Vic sounded so damn innocent that his words felt like a knife twisting in my gut. “I mean, he knows how important today is for you, and he’s your husband.”

  I tried again to smile, but I’m pretty sure I failed. “It’s complicated.”

  Vic shook his head, opened his mouth, and frowned. “Being there for someone who you love isn’t that complicated.”

  It really isn’t. Is it?

  But it was for Harry. For reasons I didn’t understand. The thing was that I couldn’t control him or his decisions, but I could control my reactions to him. So why had I expected Harry to come? And why in the world was I letting myself feel so utterly crushed by his lack of regard for such a monumental moment in my life?

  M
aybe because you know deep down this isn’t what you want in a marriage. The thought circled through my mind, and I shoved it away. No, not today. I didn’t have time to go down that dark path.

  “It’s okay, really Vic. Let’s just focus on making this restaurant as awesome as I know we can make it!”

  He studied me for a second, then nodded. “Right on!”

  I plastered a big, fake smile on my face and walked through the swinging kitchen door—the one for walking in to the kitchen, not out. They were distinctly different.

  “Okay, guys. It’s go time. Does anyone have any questions?” A group of servers, bussers, and back of the house staff looked back at me with excited expressions on their faces. We were opening for a special, one-night invitation-only event. Everyone coming got their meal free tonight.

  Normally, we’d only be open for breakfast and lunch, but this was our Grand Opening. Our chance to work out all the kinks of service, even though I was determined that there would be no kinks. Our two small town restaurant critics would be here, as would all the who's who of Mystic Hollow. They had all said it was okay if everything didn’t go perfectly, but I knew better. If people didn’t have a great first impression of this place, we’d be ruined before we even got started.

  “One question,” a waitress said.

  I held my breath.

  “Do we get to eat more of your great cooking after we’re done?”

  I laughed. “You bet!”

  My group exploded into applause, hooting, and hollering, shouting the name of the café. “Deva’s Delights! Deva’s Delights!”

  Laughing, I put Harry out of my mind for the moment and focused on enjoying this achievement. This was my biggest accomplishment, outside of my girls. And I should enjoy it!

  I’d really done it. Opened my own restaurant. And I wasn’t about to let Harry ruin even a single moment of it.

  Followed by all the front of the house, I marched out of the kitchen, across the dining room, and to the front door of my small café. People milled about on the other side of the frosted glass. Their silhouettes welcomed me as I took in one last shaky breath and opened the double doors. Stepping back, I spread my arms wide. “Welcome to Deva’s Delights!”

  TWO

  Deva

  * * *

  Humming to some GNR, I stirred the batter for another batch of blackberry pancakes. It was the third batch I’d had to make. So far, my grand opening had been a huge success. All the prep work we’d done beforehand had sold within an hour of opening, which was a shock to even my most experienced staff.

  Thank goodness I’d put the entire staff on the clock tonight. I had a full prep crew making more, which was where I was currently helping out. “Need more blackberries, please.”

  Vic, my sous chef, nodded and scurried toward the big walk-in cooler.

  “Not the small-batch,” I said. “Grab the big one.”

  He returned with a cupful a few moments later, so I added them to the batter and took it over to the griddle to cook them up.

  Once I got that batch out the door, I immediately began mixing another. Three more orders had come in for them. I hummed as I cooked, simultaneously preparing a mess of eggs, some home fries, and the salmon. This was one of the best days of my life. Aside from having my children, I couldn’t think of a day I’d been happier. Maybe my wedding day, but that seemed lackluster lately.

  These people were here to buy my food, and from the sheer volume of what had gone out the door already, there was no way this was all people who knew me well enough just to come to support me. I wasn’t sure I’d ever met enough people to keep my kitchen this busy, which meant that most of Mystic Hollow had probably come out for my big grand opening.

  Yeah, it’s true our small town doesn’t get a lot of new businesses. But our people were loyal to their favorite restaurants. The fact that they chose my place, and kept ordering food, was a really good sign.

  If every day was going to be like this, I was going to have to hire more staff. Wouldn’t that be the best? Open a new restaurant and immediately have to expand. Just the thought of it made me want to giggle. Harry had warned me over and over again that most businesses failed. He’d made sure I saved up every penny from my other job to open this place before he’d even consider the possibility that I was actually going to do this. And now, based on my first day, I felt like this was all worth it.

  My adrenaline carried me through another huge batch of orders until one of the servers came in and peered through the pickup window. “Hey, Deva?”

  I set a plate of home fries on the window. “Order up.” Then I gave her my attention as I wiped my hands on my apron. “What’s up?”

  “Someone out here wants to compliment the chef.” She beamed at me, one of my newer servers. I’d been a little worried about how she’d do, but I hadn’t had anyone come give me horror stories, so she must’ve been doing okay.

  I looked back and Vic gave me the thumbs up. “This is what we trained for,” he said. “Go.”

  With my heart full, I gave him a big grin. “Okay. You’re right.”

  As the owner, I wouldn’t always be able to be in the back of the house. Especially tonight. But the kitchen was rolling, and we really had trained for this, repeatedly. Vic was my sous chef for a reason. I’d chosen him because he worked well under pressure and knew my recipes inside and out.

  Before I stepped out of the kitchen, I took off my apron, straightened my hair, and brushed the flour off of my black slacks. I wasn’t a messy cook, but flour got everyone, always.

  Finally feeling confident… just kidding, I was terrified and nervous, but I forced myself out the door and out into the dining room.

  Holy schmoly. Every table was full. I looked around at my brightly lit restaurant. Every external wall was windows, letting in all possible natural light from the setting sun. It lit the whole place in a golden glow, making it feel even homier, with the pale wooden tables, paintings of Mystic Hollow on the walls, and plants on every table and in the corners.

  People sat around, talking, laughing, and eating all my beautiful food! My gaze moved over all the familiar faces of people in my town. Some were my friends. Some were little more than acquaintances. But they all seemed to be here, tonight, supporting me. It was an incredible feeling!

  “Who wanted to see me?” I asked the hostess quietly.

  Before she had a chance to answer, my gaze connected with a very familiar face, and I knew. “Deva,” one of my best friends, Carol, squealed. She jumped up from a table in the front and ran over to me, closely followed by our other good friend Beth. If only Emma, who moved away a long time ago, could be here, then it’d feel like I had my whole support system here for my big night.

  Beth and Carol wrapped their arms around me and we swayed back and forth, one step away from jumping up and down and laughing. They had been with me, the countless hours I worked overtime as a receptionist to save for this place. They were there with me, tasting my recipes and giving feedback, going over the designs for the restaurant. Even taking my calls late at night when my confidence wavered.

  I owed so much of my success to them.

  “Deva,” Carol said in my ear. “It’s all so wonderful!”

  When I finally pulled back, it was to face my two beaming best friends. “Thanks! But you guys didn’t have to request to give your compliments to the chef,” I said with a laugh.

  But Carol frowned and shook her head. “It wasn’t us.”

  “That was me,” a deep, alluring voice said. A voice I knew all too well.

  “Marquis,” I whispered as I turned around. “You came.”

  Marquis was every woman’s dream. A tall, black man with hair neatly trimmed, deep brown eyes, and a smile that was meant to break hearts. But more than that, he was kind. Ridiculously kind. As the town doctor, dealing with all the annoyances of a small town, I’d expect him to be a little harsher or more callous at this point. But he wasn’t. He was gentle, patient, and everyone loved him.