Enchanted Ever After. Robin D. Owens

of the guy from the night before wisped through her mind in comparison. Aric had the build she preferred, but the man she’d met earlier had certainly been interesting.

      “Hello,” Aric said. “It’s Kiri, isn’t it? Number one?”

      “Yeah.”

      He offered a huge hand and she propped the brownie pan on her other arm and put hers in his and got a quick shake before he stepped aside and held the door wide. “Welcome. Appetizers are on the kitchen counter, salads et cetera in the dining room, and we’re grilling in the back.” He glanced down at her brownies and laughed. “Brownies. We all love brownies and chocolate, but don’t often make them. Can be confusing.”

      “Huh?” Kiri said.

      A charming smile from Aric. “Sorry, neighborhood in-joke.”

      “Oh.” She wanted to learn all the in-jokes, wanted to be truly a part of the neighborhood.

      “But we’ll really appreciate your brownies,” Aric said. Since he noticeably swallowed as if saliva had pooled at the thought of the taste, Kiri believed him.

      “Good,” she said.

      “The dessert table is in the back, too.”

      His stride was long and fast. She got tingles when she entered the house. Evidently her nerves about the job were twitchier than she’d expected. But she wanted the position, the career, so much.

      And now she’d lagged behind Aric and had to hurry through the kitchen and sunroom to the backyard. That space, too, seemed to have...a little something extra. A little more of the feeling that the whole cul-de-sac had. Increased ozone, maybe.

      The smell of sizzling meat teased her nostrils. She glanced over and nearly froze in place. Jenni Weavers—no, Emberdrake!—was at the grill. Kiri recognized her from web pics. The woman wore a red apron and poufy white chef’s hat and wielded a long fork as if it were a weapon.

      But Jenni in the flesh was more vibrant than her photo, dark red hair instead of red-brown, light brown, very sparkling, eyes.

      Kiri wrenched her gaze away to sweep over the people. Almost all of the residents of Mystic Circle were there along with folks Kiri didn’t recognize, a few guests, she supposed, clumped together in small groups talking. About fifteen people. The guy from last night—who would not have pointy ears or a shimmer to his skin that must have been some cloud-cast or rising moonlight illusion—wasn’t there.

      Kiri wasn’t disappointed. Really.

      Something bumped Kiri’s knee and she joggled the pan. What? She looked around and saw an old, fat cat lying in the sun. Neither of the Davails’ yellow Labs were close, they ran back and forth along the iron barred fence to the north—the Davails’ place—with the occasional bark.

      Tamara Thunderock walked to Kiri and swept the pan from her hands even as Kiri lost her balance again. She windmilled. “Wow,” she said. “Good catch. I think my ankle twisted.” She wasn’t sure what had happened and offered a weak smile to the woman, who was even shorter than she. Kiri was about five feet five inches, but Tamara stood a good four inches shorter.

      “Brownies,” Tamara said. “You have to watch out for them.”

      “Yes, nearly dropped them,” Kiri said.

      “Your treats look fabulous.”

      Since Tamara was a baker, a pulse of satisfaction went through Kiri at her praise. “Thank you.”

      Brows raised, Tamara said, “If you want one of these, I suggest you get one right away. They’ll go fast.”

      “That’s okay,” Kiri said and relaxed enough for her smile to widen. “I got enough when I cleaned up the bowl and the spoon.”

      There was a little moan and Kiri blinked. She wouldn’t have expected that from Tamara; the woman worked with goodies all day long.

      “I’ll just put this on the table, why don’t I?” Tamara said, not meeting Kiri’s eyes. The smaller woman’s gaze was fixed on a lower point. “I’ll make sure the brownies are taken care of. There will be no more accidents.”

      “Sure.” Which meant Kiri had to suck up her courage and greet her hostess and heroine, Jenni Emberdrake.

      So she did, after hoping her smile was sincere and discreetly wiping her palms on the sides of her pants.

      “Hi,” Kiri said, offering her hand. “I’m Kiri Palger. I live in number one, the craftsman bungalow without the enclosed porch,” she babbled, as if anyone in Mystic Circle wouldn’t know which house was number one. Jenni appeared to be five feet nine or ten inches.

      Putting down the fork, Jenni took her hand in a really warm clasp. Kiri hadn’t thought her hands were so cold. Nerves.

      “Pleased to meet you,” Jenni said with a penetrating stare. “You do fit here in Mystic Circle.”

      “Ah. Thanks.”

      “And my colleagues and I at Eight Corp are interested in your background and résumé.”

      Kiri’s relieved breath puffed out a little harder than she’d expected. She followed that with a slight smile. “Thank you again.”

      “We’ll talk in a bit, so why don’t you relax and get some food. Plenty of it here.” Jenni picked up the fork again and gestured to a steak. “What kind of meat do you want?”

      Kiri wanted to resolve the job thing, but that wasn’t going to happen right now. Meat-wise, she longed for a fat hot dog. “I’ll have one of those skinless chicken strips.”

      Jenni reached toward the far side of the grill for an empty plate, plopped a chicken strip on the bright red paper dish. The tender meat fell apart.

      Kiri’s mouth watered. “Looks great.”

      “Eat and enjoy. We’ll talk later.”

      A dismissal, though said with a smile that reflected in Jenni’s eyes. Maybe Kiri would pull this off after all.

      She shifted tension from her shoulders. She was so nervous she probably shouldn’t eat. Food might have trouble squeezing into her clenched stomach, but she could hardly dump her plate.

      “Come and sit, Kiri!” called Amber Davail who lived with her husband, Rafe, in the Victorian house next door to Jenni. Amber gave a welcoming wave and Rafe smiled and lifted his fork.

      So Kiri crossed to one of the picnic tables that had been set up in the shade of a box elder tree and sat.

      It took a while for her to settle down, and she gave credit to Amber, a genealogist, and Rafe, part-owner of the Denver Fencing Lyceum, for helping her. The couple was easy to be with. They also didn’t seem to be as...intimidating as Jenni and Aric or as intense as Tamara.

      Soon Kiri had munched a mixed green salad, raw veggies, chicken and fruit and felt full enough to ignore the dessert table in the corner of the yard. She was glad there were no irresistible potatoes or French fries. She even managed to stay away from the chips and salsa and guacamole, which were a real weakness. She wanted to lose a few pounds before she started her new job.

      She would get the job.

      “Your brownies were incredible,” said Rafe. He laughed lustily. Now that she’d spent more time with him, Kiri thought he was a man who appreciated every moment of life. “They didn’t last at all. Some folk went straight for dessert.”

      “Fine with me.” Kiri drank deeply of a bottle of raspberry sparkling water and glanced around the backyard, a large pretty lawn with lilac bushes edging both side fences. The space wasn’t quite as lush or groomed as the Davails’ own next door, but Jenni’s sunroom was awesome.

      “We’re glad to have you join us here in the Circle,” Amber said. “The man who lived in number one before you kept to himself. Didn’t come to the block parties, traveled a lot