Chapter 40
Poppy
THE COBBLESTONES ARE SLICK WITH morning dew, each one sparkling in the soft autumn light.
In the spots where the sun hasn’t quite reached, frost still clings, tiny fractals of ice draped across brick walls and windowpanes, while smoke from hearth fires puffs from chimneys before curling up and away into the sky.
It all serves as a reminder that winter is slowly creeping in, stealing autumn’s warmth away.
“So,” Aric says, his voice tinged with curiosity as he gently squeezes my hand, “are you going to tell me what we’re doing today?”
I shake my head and bite my lip, trying to hold back a smile. “Not yet. It’s a surprise.”
I shift my gaze to him, and he’s so handsome in the morning light—dark hair and tusks gleaming, the golden hoops in his ears winking as he turns his head to look at me. And around his neck, mostly hidden by his tunic and cloak, I spot a little shine of silver.
The necklace with his mom’s ring.
He arches a brow, and that half smile I’ve come to be so familiar with tugs at his lips. “Should I be worried?”
“Maybe a little,” I tease.
Nervous butterflies have been fluttering around in my stomach since we hit the edge of the Mistwood on our way into Wysteria.
This will be the first time I introduce a boy—a boyfriend—to my mother.
The word still feels new and exciting in my mind.
Boyfriend. Aric is my boyfriend, and I’m taking him to meet my mom.
When I wrote to her about him, she wrote back to me in all caps with a bunch of words underlined, demanding I bring him to the café so she can meet him.
I hope she doesn’t embarrass me.
The warmth radiating from Aric’s hand is comforting, a steady anchor against the tide of nerves in my stomach. I brush my thumb across his knuckles, trying to pull my mind away from the worries that so often plague it. “It’ll be fun. I hope.”
“I’d have fun anywhere as long as I’m with you,” he says, jostling me lightly as we walk side by side.
When we arrive outside the Wandering Cup, with its wooden sign swinging gently in the crisp breeze, I get a sudden yearning for home, mixed with a tinge of guilt.
It’s been too long since I visited—mostly because of Aric and planning the ball and Faunwood and all the other tasks that’ve kept me so busy this semester. I hope Mama’s doing okay.
“This is it,” I say, my voice coming out smaller than I intended. I gesture to the quaint building, smoke puffing from the chimney. “My mom’s café.”
I know Aric has been here before—he told me he’s come here quite a few times, back before we met—but we’ve never been here together.
Aric studies the storefront, with the hand-painted flowers on the window frames and the blue-painted door, then gives me that sideways smile again. “Are you introducing me to your mom, Brains?”
Immediately, my cheeks tingle, and I know it has nothing to do with the chill air.
Without answering, I push the door open, and the familiar chime of the bell announces our arrival.
Inside, the air is warm and smells of cinnamon and fresh-baked bread.
Mama must’ve just pulled cinnamon rolls out of the oven.
She’ll let them cool for a bit, then top them with vanilla icing before putting them into the glass case for customers to buy.
“Mama!” I call out.
There’s a patter of footsteps from the kitchen in the back, and then my mom appears in the doorway.
“Poppy!” She wipes her hands on a cotton towel, then tosses it onto the front counter and hurries over.
She sweeps me into a tight hug that smells of home, her short brown hair tickling my cheek, then pulls back to look at Aric.
“And this must be Aric! I’ve heard so much about you. ”
Aric glances at me, then straightens, his ears coloring slightly as he bows his head. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mrs. Waverly.”
“Oh, call me Layla, please.” My mother beams at him, her soft brown eyes twinkling in the light coming through the big shop window. She loops her arm through his and guides him toward a table near the window. “Come, sit. You can be my taste tester. I just pulled cinnamon rolls out of the oven.”
Knew it.
“Cinnamon rolls?” Aric perks up, and a smile stretches across his face.
I follow behind them as my mother chatters away, asking Aric about his classes, his runeball team, and his family.
He answers each question easily—I should’ve known he’d have no trouble chatting with her; he’s confident like that—and I can see Mama warming to him with every word.
After we chat for a while, Mama brings us tea, then vanishes into the back to ice the cinnamon rolls, leaving me and Aric alone at the table.
He casts a gaze at me, and through the steam rising from his teacup, he arches a playful brow.
My cheeks heat again. I know he does that on purpose.
“You know,” Mama says when she returns a few minutes later, setting down a platter laden with fluffy, gooey cinnamon rolls, “Poppy was such a serious child. Always had her nose in a book.” She flicks a glance at me. “I used to worry she’d never let herself have any fun.”
“Mama,” I say, trying to convince her with my eyes to not say anything embarrassing—I’ve got plenty of stories I’d much rather Aric not hear, at least right now.
“But then,” she continues, waving my concern away with a brush of her hand, “when she was about twelve, she discovered her spells. And suddenly, everything in our house was pink. The walls, the furniture, even poor Pepper.”
Aric laughs—a warm, rumbling sound that makes my embarrassment worth it. “A pink Pepper? I wish I could’ve seen that.”
“Oh, I have drawings,” my mother says. “Poppy used to document everything in her journals. She’d carry one around everywhere she went.”
Aric looks at me pointedly, but I shake my head, my two braids flopping with the movement.
“We are not looking at my childhood journals,” I say firmly, but I’m smiling despite myself.
There’s a whisper of paws on stairs, and I look up to see Pepper appear at the bottom of the staircase leading up to our apartment above the café.
“Pepper!” I say, already standing.
He trots over and presses himself against my legs, then vibrates with a purr as I lift him into my arms and cuddle him against my chest.
“I’ve missed you,” I say, then place a kiss on his sleek black head, which has more silver-gray hair every time I see him.
At the table, Mama dabs her lips with a cloth and says, “Oh, I almost forgot. His appointment’s in half an hour.”
Aric exchanges a look with me. “Appointment?”
I smile. “I told you it was going to be hairy.”
AFTER FINISHING OUR CINNAMON ROLLS, we gather Pepper in his carrier. He climbs right in, well aware of where we’re headed. His sleek black hair gleams in the morning light as we step out of the café, and he closes his green eyes in quiet contentment as the sun shines over his face.
“I’ve never known a cat who likes going to the groomer,” Aric says.
I shrug. “Pepper is very particular about his personal hygiene.”
Aric peers into the cozy carrier and nods. “I can see that. Your hair is very shiny.”
Pepper lets out a rumbly purr, and I laugh. The sound feels lighter than it has in days.
After Aric forgot about our tutoring session together, I started feeling that creeping anxiety again, like everything is teetering on the edge and one wrong move will send this beautiful new thing crashing into a million pieces.
But right now, walking through the crisp autumn air with Aric, Pepper purring in his carrier between us, I feel a bit of the tension unwind from my chest.
The Velvet Pawlor sits on a quiet side street off the bustling main road through Wysteria, its purple door adorned with golden pawprints. We walk up the winding path to the salon, and then Aric holds the door open for me while I step inside.
“Welcome to the Velvet Pawlor,” the groomer—a woman with silver hair and kind brown eyes—says in greeting.
When she recognizes me, her face breaks into a wide smile.
“Poppy! It’s been ages!” She comes around the counter, makes as if to wrap me in a hug, then looks down at all the cat hair on her apron and decides not to.
“I expected to see your mom today. How’re things at Coven Crest? ”
“Good,” I say, bending to let Pepper out of his carrier. He knows this place well and treats it like a second home, already leaping up onto the velvet grooming table, purring as he stretches languidly across the pillow, waiting for his pampering session to start.
“Wow, you weren’t kidding,” Aric says as he steps up beside me. “He really does like it here.”
The groomer, Midge, laughs. “He’s my favorite client. And we have such great conversation too.” She walks over to scratch him behind the ear, and his purring gets louder.
Midge tells us the grooming will take about an hour, so we leave the carrier in the salon and wander back out into Wysteria’s shopping lanes.
The cobblestones are dry now, and red and gold leaves drift down from the trees and crunch pleasantly under our boots.
It won’t be long before all the trees are bare and snow coats the ground.
I almost shiver just thinking about it. For me, winter usually means gathering a copious number of books from the library and refusing to leave the comfort of the fire until spring arrives.
But with Aric in my life now, maybe this coming winter season will be different.
“Do you have your dress for the ball yet?” Aric asks, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the dressmaker’s shop. The window display features three mannequins draped in gowns of various colors and cuts, each beautiful in its own way.
I shake my head. “Not yet. I’m supposed to go shopping with the girls soon though.”
“Can I come with?” he asks with a cheeky grin.
At the thought of Aric watching me try on dresses, my face flares with heat. “No!”
Aric laughs and slips a broad arm over my shoulders. “Fine. But you have to tell me what color you pick so we can match.”