Kitchen Witch Wedding A Witchy Paranormal Romance Paperback Book

"Oh please, Brittney. You wouldn't know a good time if you were sitting on its face," my sister Emma slurred and then promptly slid off the barstool.

The patrons of McGuffins didn't turn a hair. There weren't too many places in Crestmont where a soul could go to get rip-roaring drunk. Up until the 1980's the town had been a dry county, and while places like the country club served wine or craft beers, McGuffins was about the only place that served hard liquor.

Nope, they were all too busy watching the football game on TV.

Maybe I would have been more concerned for her if I hadn't been budgeting my energy bucks all week for our outing. Sisterly bonding and all that rot. I'd been careful to shower that morning, so the temperature shift didn't trigger an MS attack. I'd paced myself all day, eating protein and taking my meds, resting at periodic intervals. And when I'd arrived, Emma had been well past sloshed and on her way to black-out drunk.

The shot glasses Emma had emptied sat upside down on the battle-scarred oak bar in front of her, lined up like good little soldiers.

So much for girl's night out.

I rooted around in the saddle bags attached to my wheelchair until I found my phone and scrolled through the contacts. Someone half my age and autoimmune disease free would have found the number in half the time. MS was a game changer though. It slowed down my motor functions to a crawl and everything I did was deliberate.

My sister's fiancé, Tyler, answered on the first ring. "You okay, Brittney?"

Despite the crappy situation, I smiled at the concern in his voice. Tyler was one of the good ones and not just because he was a police officer. "Yeah, but I need a hand with Emma. She sort of...." I trailed off as I cocked my head and studied my sister's inert form. "Melted."

"Melted huh? Like the wicked witch of the South?"

"That was the West," I corrected, though I made no comments about witches. Even though Tyler was going to be family soon, there were some things better left in the broom closet. "Bottom line is she's passed out on the floor."

"I'll be there in ten." Tyler hung up.

I stowed my phone and then gestured to Mike, the bartender.

He sauntered over, slinging the bar towel over his shoulder in a move I was sure he'd practiced in the mirror. "Can I get you something?"

"A vodka cranberry, please, Mike."

"Really?" A pimple peaked beneath the patchy white-blond stubble that Mike was trying to grow in but was turning out to be more of a neck beard. "I've never seen you drink."

"That's because I don't." Booze plus MS meds weren't a good combination. My usual method for combating stress was dark chocolate ganache. Emma's comment about me not knowing how to have a good time stung and I didn't have any cake to help me over the hump. Besides, vodka, if done well, didn't taste like anything. I even used it in ice cream sometimes, to thicken the soft serve.

At his raised brow I explained, "Special occasion. We're celebrating the big game," I pointed to the TV where one oversized galoot was sacking another. Or was that tackling? I could never tell the difference.

Mike glanced down to where Emma snored. Then he shrugged and moved down the bar to pour my drink. While his back was turned I checked to make sure no one was watching. Then using the come to me spell, I floated Emma's wallet out of her coat pocket. It wasn't fair that Tyler had to pick up her bar tab as well as her drunk carcass.

Mike leaned over the bar to hand me my drink. I forked over my sister's Visa and saluted him. Then with nothing better to do, I turned my attention to the TV.

Football and I had a long, sordid history. In high school I'd been forced to go to the bonfires and Homecoming dances. "It will help you fit in," Mom had told me. "In the South it's all about family and football."

She'd been trying to help be break free of my shell. I'd been the goth girl, the weird one with no friends. My only hobby was food, the kitchen the only place I felt normal. Little did she know her insistence only got me bullied.

I was nursing my second drink when Tyler strode in wearing his uniform. I winced. I hadn't realized he was on duty.

"You're not gonna lock her up in the drunk tank, are you?" I asked. "I was pissed at her but not that pissed."

"Nah." He patted me on the shoulder in greeting then bent down and scooped Emma up off the floor and slung her over his shoulder in a Fireman's carry. "You need a lift, Brittney?"

Gesturing to my chair I said, "Think I'm fine to drive this sweet ride. Thanks though."
He dipped his head and then turned, my sister hanging limply over his back like a human stole.

Mike handed me back Emma's card, which I signed with a shaky X. Fine motor skill, like writing, were the toughest to keep a handle on. Of course, my large motor skills weren't too great either, hence the wheelchair. Once again, my attention drifted to the TV as two men collided with the force of battering rams.

"Idiots," I breathed. Didn't they know how fragile the human body was? What a delicate and breakable machine they inhabited? All the money in the world couldn't buy a soul another home if their physical being was wrecked beyond repair.

"Great game, huh?" Mike leaned on the sticky bar top that he should have been wiping down.

"Freaking fabulous." I knocked back my drink and then turned my wheelchair and headed out into the night.

Screw vodka. I needed chocolate.

Kitchen Witch Wedding
Chaos Witch Wedding (Coming Soon)
Green Witch Wedding (Coming Soon)

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