A Taste of Shine (A Trick of the Light 1)

Charlie looked askance. “I took a long drive…”

“No more of those, Charlotte. No more long drives.” Matthew offered a jar, his fingers lingering on hers when she took it. “Unless you’d like to—”

The door banged and Eli trotted out, already yapping and lighting a cigarette. Nathaniel lumbered right behind him, as if he were trying to catch the boy and drag him back.

Oblivious as always, Eli plopped down on the top step, smiling as he inhaled a chest full of smoke. Stealing Nathaniel’s favorite line he asked, “So, Miss Charlie, what did you sit and look at this week?”

Tensing as if she’d been caught doing something bad, Charlie stammered, “I saw this real pretty abandoned house. I’m tempted to see if it’s for sale.”

Leaned against a post, Nathaniel teased, “Thinking about settling down?”

“I never lived in a real house. I’d be lying if I said the idea wasn’t growing on me.” Turning pensive, she confessed, “Besides, I’m at my breaking point with Mrs. Fontanne. For the sake of general peace, I need to get out of there.”

Eli frowned around his cigarette. “She still givin’ you a hard time?”

Charlie raised her hand to God. “I have a feeling Mrs. Fontanne thinks I’m Satan himself, here to corrupt the minds of the locals.”

“You corrupted mine,” Nathaniel said, scratching his scruffy, bruised jaw.

Eyes dancing, Charlie simpered. “You were plenty corrupted before I found you, Nathaniel Emerson.”

Matthew wanted her attention, reaching for the jar they shared. “Which house you thinkin’ of buyin’?”

He rocked in his chair listening to her describe the little white house and the lake it sat by, once again amazed with how beautiful she could make their backwater county sound.

Charlie finished with a grin. “And it has a big porch like Eli suggested.”

Nathaniel rolled his eyes. “That decrepit ruin is the old Mayweather Mansion… It ain’t little and it ain’t livable. Better put a match to it and start over.”

Charlie poked him with her toe. “Don’t you be making fun of my mansion, Nathaniel. Just wait until it’s finished and has some fancy name like Elliot’s Lodge.”

“More like, Emerson Estate,” Nathaniel snorted.

“I intended to be a respectable woman… eventually.” Charlie leaned towards the menace, met his eye and taunted, “Why the hell would I name my house after you troublemakers?”

Nathaniel, cocky as could be, nodded his head towards Matthew. “Who do you think owns that pretty little house and all that land you are so eager to buy?”

“The plot thickens.” Playful, Charlie took the jar from Matthew’s fingers, took a swallow, humming as a fire burned her belly. “I don’t know if I want to go into business with bootleggers. Unless, of course, you feel like selling it to me, Mr. Emerson.”

Lying just a piece down the road, the Mayweather Mansion was in walking distance and sitting pretty, just like she said. But Nathaniel was right; the house needed at least six months of labor, if not more.

But... he could fix it up with all the fancy wallpaper she might like. He could make it real nice for her.

Getting ahead of himself, caught staring off into space instead of answering her, Matthew chugged a few deep gulps from their jar.

“Slow down,” Charlie warned, having never seen him swallow liquor so carelessly. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to try to buy a house you obviously don’t want to sell.”

Matthew grumbled something unintelligible, Nathaniel’s shoulders shaking in silent laughter behind her.

Clearing his throat, he tried again. “There’s no need to stay at the boarding house. Eli’s old room is upstairs.”

A part of Charlie badly wanted to accept such an improbable invitation—to be right there near him every day and night. A much bigger part was downright scared it would be a very bad idea.

“Matthew’s right,” Nathaniel interrupted before she might say no. “You should stay here. It’s a far cry better than the boarding house. And just think how fat you’ll get from all of Matthew’s cookin’ and all the trouble we can get into when no one’s lookin’.”

“I had enough of your brand of trouble this afternoon,” Charlie warned, looking pointedly at his bruised jaw.

The man tugged her skirt. “Come on, Charlie.”