A New Leaf (Hemlock #1)

Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

Charlie

Monday morning arrived quicker than I anticipated. It was a downright battle dragging Vera and myself into the store today, as neither of us had any interest in leaving the bed.

As I begin to open up the store, I let out a huge yawn and rub my tired eyes. The crisp November air sends a chill through me. Bright sunlight pours through the shop’s large windows; definitely too bright for me. Groaning, I draw the shades down for some relief.

Why am I practically a zombie this morning?

Because I stayed up too late, staring at the ceiling and thinking about the kiss that Finn and I shared.

That, and Vera was snoring so damn loudly.

The memory of our kiss still lingers on my lips. I can’t help but let my mind wander back to the moment when I firmly pressed my lips against his and every small detail that followed.

The sudden sharp inhale of his breath as I clutched his jacket, drawing him closer to me.

The way his strong arms felt wrapped around my waist, pulling me to him with desire.

The warmth of his hands, which kept a firm hold on me, pressing me tighter against his body.

Memories of last night begin to dissipate as anxiety slowly creeps in. I wonder if I’ll see Finn today and whether he’s suddenly regretting last night. Maybe after a restful night, he just wants to be friends and only friends. Nothing more.

My stomach plummets at the thought of seeing him with another girl. Especially in this small town. Groaning, I drop my head into my hands. Whenever my mind spirals like this, constantly second-guessing myself, it drives me insane. I never used to be like this—until my parents died. It's impressive how much grief can affect your brain. Even though I’m working on my spiraling thoughts in therapy, sometimes my mind does whatever it wants.

Vera senses my unease and settles her head on my thigh, which I instinctively begin to stroke. The heavy weight of her little head, paired with her soft fur beneath my fingertips, slowly brings me back to reality. Since I inherited Vera, it amazes me how much less anxious I become whenever I’m around her.

After a few deep breaths and some Vera therapy, I feel a bit better.

My eyes pause on a pile of mail sitting on the counter and I reach over to grab the stack. While shuffling through the stack of letters, my hands freeze on an obnoxiously colored flyer.

“Fuck,” I groan.

In my hand is a flyer for the Hemlock Harvest Festival. I completely blanked on this insufferable event that my parents adored. This will be the first year I’ll be partaking in the event since their passing.

And I have no clue what in the world I’m doing. All I know about this event is that it has hundreds of jovial people and an abundance of small town camaraderie.

My personal hell.

Panic spins into anger, and anxiousness rises in my chest again. Tears well in my eyes, and my skin suddenly feels clammy with worry. I don’t know what I’m doing.

The worst part? My parents aren't alive to tell me how they managed the event. Anger now turns to guilt for not asking more questions about their business so I could be more prepared.

That’s the funny thing about death. Sometimes, it happens so fast that no one can prepare you.

At all.

Day in and day out, you live with three statements that will forever haunt you. I would’ve done this , I could’ve done that , and I should’ve done this .

A loud knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts—a well-timed welcome distraction from this emotion-filled moment. I wipe my nose and dry the tears under my eyes as I open the door for Marnie.

Before I get the door fully open, she barges in, grabs me by the shoulders, and looks at me dead in the eye.

“What’s wrong? You’re not okay. Don’t fucking lie to me because I know your lying face. Did you eat? Do you need water? Did your blood sugar drop again? Where’s Vera? You need her, even though you say you don’t. Here, sit down.” She hastily drags me across the store, plopping me down on a stool behind the counter. “Drink some water from my bottle. Don’t be weird about it because I know you don’t like sharing glasses or straws. I don’t have cooties, you freak.”

Rolling my eyes, I grab her bottle and take a few sips of the cold water, which, admittedly, does help a bit.

“I got the stupid flier about the stupid Harvest Festival.” I exhale.

“I’ve always hated that damn festival. It really brings the crazies out, you know? What’s got you so upset about it? Let’s talk about your favorite thing.” Her hands come together, fingers moving like a villain plotting an ambush. “ Feelings .”

I take another gulp of water, huffing out a sad laugh. “I panicked because I’ve never done this before. I’m angry because my parents are dead and can’t help me. I feel guilty because I didn’t ask them more questions. And I’m sad because I’m doing this alone.”

She nods and hums, taking in everything I told her. “Want me to perform some black magic? Get the Ouija board out? Maybe we can talk to the dead?” I point an annoyed glare at her. “Too soon? I'll reel it in.” She winces. Marnie’s gaze softens before continuing. “Okay, first off, you’re not doing this alone. You have me. I can figure this shit out in a week, tops. Secondly, do not feel guilty about things that are out of your control. You didn’t know you’d have this huge traumatic life event happen, and there was no way you could’ve prepared for that. Personally, I think you’re doing great. And I know you loathe when people say this, but your parents would be so proud of you. You need to cut yourself some fucking slack.”

She wraps one arm around my shoulder and pulls me in close for a hug. I exhale, feeling some of the emotional weight lift off my chest and shoulders.

“I’m surprised you’re letting me hug you this long,” Marnie says with disbelief.

“Me too,” I muffle into her shoulder. “Honestly, it’s impressive how good you are at?—”

“Talking you off the ledge? Yeah. I’ve had a lot of practice.” She laughs.

In the midst of our hug-fest, we hear the bell chime. Glancing down at my phone to check the time, it looks like we’re officially open, and I officially have to get my shit together. Usually, we don’t get customers first thing when the store opens. They tend to filter in later in the morning or early afternoon.

Marnie goes to welcome the customer as I quickly glance at myself to make sure there’s no mascara running down my face. Pulling my hair up with a clip, I notice my eyes look sad today. What a change from how happy I felt last night.

Funny how emotions can change so quickly.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the hot professor,” I hear Marnie say up near the front of the store.

“I wore this sweater vest just for you, Marnie,” a familiar, deep voice replies in amusement.

“You know I love a good, slutty sweater vest,” Marnie replies.

Oh god. It’s Finn. Finn is here. And I’ve been crying. For a brief moment, I contemplate sneaking out the back. It’s too late, though, because I hear them both talking, voices getting louder as they approach me. I take the tissue out of my pocket and wipe my nose.

This morning, I was worried he wasn’t going to show up today. Now, I’m worried he’ll run for the hills after seeing my ugly crying face. It’s too early for him to see me as a snotty, teary mess. Because nothing says Wanna make out again? like wiping your runny nose and gazing longingly through red, swollen eyes.

They both come to an abrupt stop in front of the counter where I’m sitting, still drinking out of Marnie’s skull-patterned water bottle and sniffling. My puffy eyes go wide when I see them staring down at me. Marnie bites back a smile and Finn looks like someone stole his dog. I slowly blink at them as my lips are frozen around the straw of Marnie’s water bottle.

Marnie speaks first, breaking the thick tension in the room. Her voice is almost a whisper as she says, “And here we have a rare sighting of a beautiful mammal with shining locks of deep chestnut hair. She usually expels tears in her cave but has decided to venture out into the forest for a change of scenery. Speak low. Don’t make sudden movements so as to not scare her.”

She’s lost her ever-loving mind—acting like I’m a rare creature in an Animal Planet documentary.

Leave it to Marnie to make jokes about your tears in the most light-hearted way. We all stare at her before breaking out in a fit of laughter. She sends a knowing wink my way. A wink that says, We got this, don’t worry about a thing .

“I come bearing gifts,” Finn says. “A drink for Ms. Thorne,” he says, handing me a to-go cup. “And a black coffee for Ms. Morticia Addams.” He hands a cup to Marnie.

Marnie opens the lid of the cup and sniffs it. “How did you know I take my coffee black?”

Finn tilts his head to the side and sighs. “Come on. Black clothes, black hair, black tattoos—it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out, Marnie. I’m sure you also tell the barista, ‘I take my coffee like my soul—black,’ right?”

Marnie clutches her heart, her voice filled with dramatic flair. “You are so dreamy. I hate it.” Marnie heads to the back, yelling, “Thanks, Professor!”

Now it’s only Finn and I as I’m sitting here with sore eyes, a runny nose, and a coffee that I have a fifty-fifty chance of hating. Finn walks around the corner of the counter and kneels down on the floor next to where I’m sitting. He’s looking up at me and places his large hand on my knee. Embarrassingly enough, I sniffle. Again.

“Now’s a good time to tell you I brought you a hot chocolate today, not a coffee.” He gives my knee a gentle, comforting squeeze. “So what’s going on, sweetheart?”

I shrug, rolling my lips so I don’t start crying again. “You know, the usual. Dead parents, running a store I know nothing about, and that stupid Harvest Festival.” My shoulders drop, blowing out a huge exhale.

“Oh, I saw that too. I have no idea what to do with that. Is it mandatory?”

“Unfortunately.”

He looks off into the distance and shakes his head. “What a weird town.”

“Big time,” I say, forcing a smile. “This is my first year running my own station at the festival. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Finn looks at me with softened eyes filled with empathy. “Well, you're in good company, because this city boy has no clue what he’s doing either.” With the pad of his thumb, Finn wipes away a rogue tear that just fell from my eye. “What are the chances we can get our tents next to each other? You know, so we can be each other’s support system?”

“Zero chance. Your aunt runs a strict ship when it comes to the festival.”

His eyes widen. “Donna is in charge of all that?”

“Oh yeah. I’ve heard the horror stories from my parents.” An exaggerated shiver rolls through me as I recall some of the things they had said about her.

He sits there, pondering for a second. “She gets back this week. I’ll fix this.” Finn pats my leg before he lifts himself off the ground. “I have to get back to the shop since we’re short-staffed today. Seriously, don’t stress about the silly festival. I’ll take care of it.”

He gives me a quick kiss on my temple before walking out the door, brimming with swoonworthy confidence. My eyebrows raise as he leaves, and I glance over at Marnie, who’s hiding behind a big, indoor palm plant, giving me a huge grin and a thumbs-up.

The moment Finn steps out the door, Marnie rushes over to me so fast she runs into the counter and knocks a plant over.

“What was that ?” she asks, eyes wide and tongue practically hanging out.

“We kissed,” I blurt out, covering my mouth with my hands.

Marnie’s eyes bug out of her head and she squeals. She may look like a modern-day Morticia Addams, but she sure doesn’t act like one.

“How was it? Was it just a kiss? A full-blown make out sesh? Did you break your neck trying to kiss him? He’s so fucking tall. Was he wearing the slutty tan sweater vest? Or the dark blue one? Come on, spill!”

On an exhale, I say, “Pull up a stool.”

I tell Marnie everything. From the moment I got to his house up until the word vomiting on my porch. Her face is frozen in shock and I’m not entirely sure whether it’s good shock or bad shock. A customer calls over to us, asking for help, and Marnie doesn’t budge. I carefully get up and make my way around her as she sits, still unmoving.

I help the customer pick out a low-light houseplant, give her some fertilizer for free, send her on her way, and return to find Marnie in the same spot—still frozen and not making any sounds. Now, I start to get nervous as I walk up beside her.

“Uh. Are you okay?” I look at her with concern, wondering if I broke her.

“I’m racking my brain trying to find another moment in my life where I was as proud of someone as I am of you right now. I can’t. I feel like a mom whose child passed their driver’s test. No. I feel like a mom whose child graduated college. With a doctorate. At the top of their class. And had perfect attendance,” she says.

Huh. Okay, so this is a good shock. Marnie slowly turns her head to me, her face lighting up with an idea. I jump back a little, unsure of what will escape from her mouth next.

“Remember that wedding everyone in Hemlock got invited to on New Year’s Eve?” She looks at me, and I can sense the wheels turning in her mind.

My eyebrows pull together. Where is she going with this? “Uh. Yes. The one that I’m still trying to get out of. How easy is it to break a foot?”

Slowly, Marnie shakes her head. “You should ask Finn to go with you.”

“Absolutely-fucking-not. Are-you-out-of-your-damn-mind? Don’t answer that, actually. You’re too self-aware for your own good.” I start to anxiously pace around the store, finding any and every excuse to completely ignore this conversation.

“I’m just sayin’. This could be good for you, you know? You seem lighter. Less grouchy . . . which I didn’t think was possible. Maybe just a good ole fashioned dicking is what the doctor ordered?” she asks.

My eyes widen and my cheeks get hot. This girl is going to give me a coronary with her wild remarks.

A customer gasps from behind us and we both turn around. They’re clearly aghast by what they heard Marnie say.

“Sorry about her. She has this condition where she gets a dopamine rush by making people uncomfortable. We’ve been to see many specialists, and they just haven’t found a cure yet.” I shrug. “They did brain scans and everything. Everyone is stumped.”

A horrified look spreads across the customer’s face.

Yep. She won’t be coming back anytime soon. If I had a dollar for every time I lost a customer due to one of Marnie’s “Marnie-isms,” I would have enough money to put a down payment on a nice SUV.

I spin, looking back at my obnoxious friend. “You’ve got to stop doing that.”

“Never,” she replies, a devilish grin lighting up her face.