Magical Midlife Madness (Leveling Up 1)

“It’s fine,” I managed, reaching for the glass. I sipped it to get him to move away, ready to drink just about anything. But as soon as the flavor hit my tongue, my eyes dipped downward and the world stopped. Spicy, smoky, soft and light, the wine serenaded my taste buds. I closed my eyes, savoring the taste.

“Good?” Austin asked, his voice a deep rumble.

“Very.” I took another sip. The second sip was even better than the first. “Delicious.”

“There.” Austin tapped the bar and gave Niamh a smug look. “See? I can impress a connoisseur. It just takes the best, most expensive bottle from my personal collection to do it.” He winked at me and moved down the bar.

“Oh no, that’s—” But he was already too far away. “He shouldn’t have done that,” I said.

“’Course he should have. You were dead right—what’s he doin’ servin’ flat, cheap wine in a place like this?”

“Not flat—red wine usually doesn’t have bubbles. It—”

“Whatever. The point is, all he has to do is walk down the street and get the good stuff. His pride is gettin’ in the way of good business. But here now, you’ve humbled him. He’s learned he has to get on the mark.”

“It’s his bar, he can—”

“Ma’am.”

“Heh!” I spun around and nearly fell completely off the stool.

Mr. Tom stood behind me. “You forgot your sweater.” He held out my favorite gray sweater.

“Did you…” I took it slowly. “Did you root through my luggage to find this?”

“Of course not, ma’am. I do not root through anything.”

“Then why were you sacked from the other place?” Niamh asked faux-pleasantly.

He ignored her. “I put all your clothes away except this. I figured you’d want to wear it home.”

I squinted at the sweater, looking at it as if I were investigating some great mystery and the clues were woven into the fabric. “Did you know this was my favorite, or was that a lucky guess?”

“Of course I knew, ma’am. As a butler, I am—”

“Lucky guess,” Niamh said. “It’s probably the only mildly fashionable item you own.”

I opened my mouth to deliver a rebuttal, but there was no denying she was correct. “Thanks,” I said, taking the sweater. “But you didn’t have to come all the way down here…”

“When ma’am cannot wait to receive an item, of course I must follow her to her destination, or how will she get it?” He straightened his arms at his sides and bowed.

I couldn’t tell if that was a nice gesture, or severe disapproval. Probably both.

“Well, thanks.” I tied it around my waist.

“Don’t thank him, he’s the help.” Niamh shot Mr. Tom a fiery stare.

“I’m the help, too, let it go,” I murmured at her.

“It is perfectly fine,” Mr. Tom told me. “She is acting out because she feels helpless without her rocks. Should I prepare a snack for when you get home?”

My grin was for his dig at Niamh and my misty eyes were ridiculous. What was going on? I hadn’t properly cried in years. I’d just sorta numbed up at a certain point with Matt, tired of the constant disappointment and the feeling of being overwhelmed. I’d shut off.

I knew it was good that feeling was rushing back in—that I was accessing the full range of emotions again—but this was taking things too far. Why not stick with laughter? Why did I have to go whole hog and start crying in public? Talk about embarrassing first impressions.

“No, I’ll manage,” I said, blinking profusely.

“Yes, ma’am. I will go shopping tomorrow for all the items you require.” He slid a look at Niamh. “I wouldn’t want to force you to beg for dry sandwiches and the tedious company that goes with it.”

“Because you think she wants to hang around you, you prune-faced trollop?” Niamh clapped back.

“Better than a saggy old hag that—”

“Enough,” Austin said, and I shivered at the power and authority in his voice. The other two closed their mouths. Their glares still said plenty, though.

“When should I come to collect you, ma’am,” Mr. Tom asked.

“I’m fine, Mr. Tom, really. And you don’t have to call me ma’am. I’m the hired help, just like you.”

“As you wish, madam, but I insist on collecting you. The streets are not safe for the master of—”

“Are you deaf, Mr. Tom?” Niamh cut in. “She said she was the caretaker. Just a regular Jane, like everyone else. She’ll be good.”

“Seriously, you guys, I’m not a tourist. I work here, now. If that’s not the definition of a budding local, I don’t know what is,” I said in annoyance.

“Be that as it may—”

“I’ll take her home,” Austin said, his hands braced against the bar again.

Mr. Tom’s eyes widened marginally and I wondered if he planned to argue. If it was Niamh he certainly would have. Finally, he bowed again.

“I’ll see you at Ivy House, madam.” Mr. Tom turned on his heel and glided out the door.