Page 52 of Clearly Charmed

‘Born and raised in Los Angeles. Went to college in the San Francisco Bay Area.’

‘Any brothers or sisters?’ Aster said.

‘Only child.’

‘And your parents?’ she pressed as Clo and Lia pretended they weren’t listening to every word.

‘It’s just me and my mom,’ he said with a short clip.

‘But you have relatives here?’ Aster said.

‘Did,’ he replied grimly.

‘I knew Richard.’ Clo placed a lapis-blue serving dish on the counter and began scooping mashed potatoes into it. ‘He was a good man.’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ Bryce said sharply and then took a deep, steadying breath. ‘What I mean is I should have taken the time to know him. I regret that I didn’t.’

His gaze slid over the framed photos sitting on the wood mantel above the stone fireplace and then glided to the McGuire and Perkins family pictures strewn about the rest of the room.

There was a sorrow I recognized in his eyes. It was the realization that a time had passed you’d never get back but wished you could. It was how I thought about Grandpa Beau’s passing.

We lost him the summer I went to a special equine camp in Fort Collins. On a muggy June day, Clo found him in the garden under a tree. She thought he’d fallen asleep, but when she couldn’t wake him, she knew he was gone for good.

I’d rushed home after that to console her and my sisters. Of course, Belladonna was nowhere to be found. It was just one of the many reasons why I wasn’t quick to reply to her emails. Whenever you let her in, even if it was for a second, she managed to break your heart.

The timer dinged over the stove, and Clo waved us all to the table. Instead of waiting for me to point him to a chair, Bryce jumped up. He set his wine glass on the table and strode into the kitchen, swiping a pair of oven mitts off the counter. ‘Please, let me,’ he said once she had the oven door open.

Oh, he was good.

Clo gave him a smirk and stepped back. In one smooth move, he had the large roasting pan out and resting on the cooling rack set to the right of the sink.

‘Dani, will you please do the honors,’ Clo said, waving me away from the stove.

‘I can carve—’ Bryce started.

‘Do you have surgical training like my Dandelion?’ Clo snipped.

He shot me an impish grin. ‘No, ma’am, I do not.’

Clo grabbed the oven mitts from him and slid them on. She reached into the pan and hefted out the rack holding the turkey, setting it on a thick cutting board with a border well to collect all the juices.

‘It’s been resting in the oven for thirty minutes so it should be ready.’ She pointed to the row of tools (kitchen shears, boning, chef and carving knives) she’d set out next to the cutting board. ‘It’s all ready to go for you.’

‘This is ridiculous,’ I said. ‘If you want it done right, you should ask Lia. She’s a pro at gutting fish.’

‘Nope. It’s all you, Dandelion,’ Lia said with an annoying smirk.

Aster tugged on the corner of Bryce’s shirt, pointing for him to sit at the end of the table where Grandpa Beau once sat. Yet another thing that would probably set Lia off tonight.

‘Grab the wine bottle,’ Aster ordered. ‘This often becomes a long and drawn-out battle over the proper way to carve a turkey.’

‘There’s a wrong way?’ He set down the bottle in the center of the table and waved a halting hand at Aster so he could pull out her chair. Clo flashed an approving grin at him.

What was happening? Where were her Art of War plans?

Once she was finished giving him her dazzling smile, Clo pointed to the trussing twine and barked, ‘Cut there first.’

I arched a brow at her. ‘Now you’re going to supervise?’