Creating Merry Hell by Emma Wallace

raised a hand in greeting, his gray eyebrows rising subtly. “’ Tis indeed. Good to see you, boy, my wife’s been expecting you. Didn’t think you’d come by myself but she was right again. You’d think after forty years I’d learn not to doubt.” The old man shook his head, a jovial smile lighting his face as he turned his attention once again to the shrub.
    Hands thrust deep into his pockets, Jack followed the racket Rose was making. By the time he found her she had her head and shoulders poking inside a scarred lowboy. “Ah, I knew I had a stash in here somewhere.”
    With a triumphant flourish she straightened to her full height of five-foot-nothing brandishing a bottle of thirty-year-old Ardbeg in one hand and two gem-encrusted tumblers in the other.
    Jack wasn’t so sure whiskey was such a good idea but after quick review thought what the hell, he could do with one. Last night he made another attempt to broach the subject of a future with Merry and as usual she’d shut him down. Since she was always very inventive when it came to distracting him, Jack hadn’t put up too much of a fight. Now time was running out. She was leaving soon and Jack needed to know they could work things out before she left. Not a pledge of undying love—that was too much to hope for—right now he’d settle for the promise of a chance. He wouldn’t let her pretend this week meant nothing more than sex brought on by the spell. Merry wasn’t getting off the hook that easily. They had so much more going for them and he wasn’t about to let her throw it all away because she was too frightened to risk her heart and admit he might actually mean something to her. Exactly what that was they would have to work out but right now all he wanted was the chance to try.
    Rose poured a generous two fingers worth of whiskey into the two glasses and handed one to Jack. Raising the glass in her hand, she winked at him and said, “Bottoms up,” and knocked back the amber liquid in one go. Impressed, Jack followed her example, savoring the peaty earthiness as the Ardbeg slid effortlessly down his throat.
    “Now, I believe you have something you want to ask me?” Rose gently reminded. “Or did you come out all this way to drink my good whiskey?”
    Considering his empty glass, Jack smiled. “It’s a fine dram, Rose, but indeed I do have a question for you. Grace and Merry have got it into their heads you cast some sort of spell. I don’t happen to think that’s true. Is it?”
    Not answering his question right away, Rose picked up a trowel and scooped compost from a bag. Scattering the compost into a tray, she did this a few times until she was satisfied with the depth. “What do you think Jack?” she said with a sigh.
    “That’s just it. I don’t know. I’ve wanted her for so long and now that it seems I could finally have a chance with her, I really think we could make this work, but she won’t talk about it, insists all this intensity is because of your spell. I just don’t know.” Scratching at his stubbled jaw, he grunted. “I have all these feelings but are they real? Is any of it real?”
    Appearing to concentrate on the trays, she rubbed the dirt between her fingertips, breaking up any clumps. “What is your heart telling you?” Rose asked. “Look inside, Jack. Trust yourself,” she coaxed softly.
    Frustrated by Merry’s reluctance to talk and irritated by Rose’s evasive answers, Jack willed his mind to clear and focus on the question. What did his heart tell him? “It feels real. She’s all I think about. I-I think I love her.”
    The last week had been nothing short of amazing. Merry had proven to be all the things he’d wished whenever he thought of her over the years. She blew him away.
    Rose stopped what she was doing and smiled tenderly at him. “I’m very pleased you said that, Jack.”
    “Why’s that?”
    “Because, young man, there was no spell.”
    “Why then, do the girls think there was