Chapter Five #2
‘What? It came up last night after you took off. We both agree Mo is getting out of hand.’ She blew a wayward curl off her forehead.
‘Whenever business gets slow in the tavern, all these tales about the “magic in Harvest Moon” and the witchy McGuire sisters come out.’ Her laugh was caustic.
‘It needs to stop because it messes with all of our lives.’
She and Aster swapped another weighted look.
‘Okay,’ I said, swinging a finger between the two of them. ‘What else are you keeping from me?’
‘Tell her, Ast,’ Lia urged.
‘A few people have come into the Blossom lately under the guise that they want flowers, but then they get all weird. Ask what color I see in them. Demand I find their exact match so they can be with the love of their lives.’
‘And the last weirdo?’ Lia pressed.
Aster nervously twirled a lock of hair around her finger. ‘He mentioned, well, asked sort of forcefully, if I could be his match. Which is both creepy and ridiculous, because most people know I can see everyone’s color except my own. A flaw in the design, so to speak,’ she said bitterly.
I grabbed the edge of the counter to stay steady. Tourists had always been weird around us, but I drew the line at people who invaded our space and acted like complete weirdos.
‘What did you do?’ I said.
‘Dalton was in the shop keeping me company. He chased the guy out, and the loser never came back.’
‘Aster,’ I said on an unsteady breath. ‘Your best friend also has a business to run. He can’t always be there to protect you.’
She waved away my worry. ‘Dalton has enough staff to sling pizzas. And you know so much more good than bad comes from what happens when I help people.’
When Aster was four, she started drawing vivid pictures of family and friends.
Their outlines were always in very specific colors.
Orange for me. Dark green for Lia. Belladonna a deep, nearly blackish purple.
Grandmother Clo, a complete counter to her daughter, was a shade of honey yellow.
When it came to drawing herself, Aster only used a white crayon, because for some odd reason her gift didn’t pertain to herself, which, even though she brushed it off, bothered her.
Belladonna noticed her artistic gifts and quizzed her about it.
Grew uptight when she questioned Aster about what she saw, felt, when she met new people.
Our pediatrician had a name for it – synesthesia.
Belladonna argued he was wrong. That Aster was only highly sensitive and creative.
An empath who sensed people’s worries and fears. Connected with their vulnerability.
‘This is the reason why that reporter coming here is bad, Dani. We’ve already got issues in our own lives just from the whispers,’ Lia said. ‘Imagine what a hellscape this place will become if Harvest Moon gets put in the spotlight again!’
‘Again?’ Aster said with a questioning look.
Lia ignored her, snatching her paper off the counter and pretending to read. When she got in a mood like this, it was hard to reason with her.
‘Sterling roses are supposed to be delivered today for Mayvis Turner and Jacob Orlow’s wedding this weekend,’ Aster squeaked out. She always got uncomfortable when Lia went sullen.
‘That sounds pretty. Are they having a lot of guests?’ I said.
‘Only close family and friends.’ She waited for Lia to add something, but she remained concrete stiff on her stool.
Elena returned with a vanilla latte for Aster. A bright pink candle sat in a decadent chocolate croissant made by the bakery next door.
Aster closed her eyes and blew out the flame. Even though I clapped along with Lia and Elena, a knot lodged into the center of my chest. I hated that none of us could be normal in this town. That the rumors of magic still tainted things.
It wasn’t always this way. For over a hundred years, Harvest Moon had been like any other quiet mountain town.
Sure, there’d been whispers off and on about the founding families, specifically the Perkins line on Clo’s side.
They’d all been silly tales told over beers, or around campfires, until Clo began dating Beau McGuire.
People loved to talk nonsense about the couple who could make anything grow in the harsh clay soil, and whose families were rumored to have a special intuition, a gift, for mining silver in the local mountains.
Over the years, the stories ebbed and flowed until our mother, Belladonna, was born on a dark night with thunder and lightning battling in the midnight air.
With her thick, black hair and violet eyes, our mother became a legend, a whispered fear, among the locals.
It didn’t help to quell the rumors when at eighteen she started disappearing for long periods of time, only to return eight months pregnant, never telling a soul who any of our fathers were.
Aster let out a moan as she took a big bite of croissant, a wide smile lighting up her face. This was what she deserved – pure joy, not menacing assholes, or rumors about who, or what, she was.
‘I still can’t believe it’s been a year since Mayvis came into the shop looking for a bouquet for her mama,’ Aster said, wiping her mouth with a napkin.
‘That day when she spoke, her essence, a sharp, bright mint green, floated around her body. Not a week later, Jake came in to buy flowers for a co-worker’s birthday.
His color matched Mayvis’s perfectly. I introduced them a few days later, and now they’re getting married,’ she said proudly.
‘That’s what I want to focus on, not the other stuff. ’
Lia grumbled on about Mo, and I took a sip of my drink. Elena moved around the counter, collecting old dishes and mugs. The sound of footsteps headed our way. As soon as I saw the blue hat, the threads of reddish-blond hair poking out the sides, I slid down in my seat.
Bryce studied the chalkboard menu hung on the wall.
‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.’ Lia tipped her chin, narrowing her stare on his hat. I hadn’t noticed it yesterday with him tripping across the ground, but the small yellow stitching at the back of his hat said Metropolitan Lifestyle Network.
Aster gave me a confused look as I sucked in a sharp breath.
No. It wasn’t possible. Bryce was the reporter?
My mind spun back to what he’d said about the importance of words. The smudge of ink on his finger. The phrase ass over teakettle.
Dammit. I’d missed all the signs.
His gaze flicked in our direction and he did a double take. ‘Oh, hello,’ he said too hesitantly. He moved toward our end of the counter. ‘You must be Aster. I’ve heard good things about you.’ He reached his hand out to her. ‘I think I messed up your birthday celebration yesterday. I’m sorry.’
The veins in Aster’s neck started to throb. Her pupils blew wide as her breaths went thready. Instead of greeting him, she pressed a hand over her mouth, all the color draining from her cheeks.
The coffee in my stomach threatened to make a reappearance.
This could not be happening.
I knew that wide-eyed stare and exactly what it meant.