The Mirror (The Lost Bride Trilogy #2)

He heard a window open in the turret above, the library window, and looked up.

Clover, blond hair shining against the twilight, leaned out.

He stopped in his tracks, started to speak.

But she only blew him a kiss, and was gone.

Chapter Twelve

It snowed.

Sonya looked out at the fluffy layer of white over what had been a wide stretch of green. And cursed.

The fact that daffodils waved over the thin blanket of snow didn’t stop the next curse.

Sure, they might get a dusting or whatever—and an occasional spring dumping—in Boston in late April, but she’d been completely into the idea of spring.

So she blamed Maine.

Trey simply shrugged it off, kissed her goodbye, and left with just a hooded vest over his flannel shirt.

She consoled herself that she’d had a night of what, in her previous life, had been normal. She’d slept nearly eight full hours, undisturbed.

And woken to snow and a fire lit by ghostly hands in the bedroom hearth.

They hadn’t been wrong about the drop in temperature either.

When Cleo surfaced just before ten, Sonya sat, fully dressed, makeup in place at her desk.

“I’m thinking I’ll cancel the hair appointment, and just work until we go meet Anna for lunch.”

“Stop it. You’re going.”

“It’s not your hair!”

“And yours needs shaping up, and you want your nice, subtlehighlights refreshed. They really bring out that maple syrup color. And I need coffee!”

Scrambling up, Sonya followed her down. “Maybe I don’t want to leave you alone in the manor while I give in to my shameful vanity over my hair.”

“Stop that, too. And didn’t you say before I went up last night you were going in early enough to stop by the bookstore?”

“That was last night. Oh, and it snowed.”

“Did it?” Cleo went to the window in the kitchen. “Damn if it didn’t. But it’s already melting. There’s a lot of sunshine out there. Coffee. But that explains why my fire was going when I got up.”

“She lit the one in the library, too. I realized I’ve sort of missed that.”

“We’re having pork chops tonight.”

“Okay, but—”

“And you should get ready to go. You know how much you like browsing in bookstores, and you should go by Gigi’s. I’ll let Yoda and Pye out and back in before I leave.” Leaning back against the counter, Cleo drank coffee. “Son, your hair needs work. Go get your hair done.”

“Fine. Fine. And if I come to lunch with orange highlights and hair that looks like somebody whacked it with garden shears, it’s on you.”

“I accept that responsibility.”

“On you,” Sonya repeated darkly, then stalked off to get a jacket, her purse.