Chapter 4
Four
By the time Rose unlocks the front door, Gunner’s nudged me up to sitting and is coaching me through deep breathing. There’s a water bottle on the floor next to me, my clever familiar able to open a fridge in the back and bring it over.
My breathing’s back to normal, and I greet Rose with a weary “hey,” that only manages to make her brow crease with concern.
“You look like dog shit.” She glances at Gunner. “No offense.”
Gunner chuffs in response, and I roll my eyes.
“It was a bad one, huh?” Instead of trying to help me up, Rose slides down the cupboard door to sit next to me. She lifts the water bottle, and I take it from her with a grateful nod.
Gunner settles at my feet, and Fig, Rose’s familiar, darts out from a pocket on her purse. The European starling cocks her head at me and makes a strange trill before speaking.
“You need to tell us everything,” the bird says.
Gunner growls softly, and I sigh. “It was a bad one, but it was short. Hazel’s coming home, of that, I’m sure.
The other parts… Posey’s shop, that’s obvious.
” I give a feeble wave at my now defunct espresso machine.
“I think I shorted out a whole bunch of stuff on accident. Posey’s about to have her hands full. ”
She’s the town mechanic and a magical mechanism genius, so that’s absolutely self-explanatory.
Rose doesn’t answer, just waits with an expectant expression on her face.
“And?” Fig prompts, fluttering her wings.
That’s Fig for you. Rose would rather last an eternity than press someone on an uncomfortable topic. Fig? Fig’s forever acting as though if she doesn’t know something the minute it’s knowable that she’s been done a grievous bodily harm.
Fig takes “heard it through the grapevine” as a personal insult.
Fig is her own grapevine.
Gunner whines softly, nudging my foot. He doesn’t like to speak around my sisters, not like Fig and their familiars.
I sigh, knowing I need to tell her.
“Caleb’s in town. I saw him this morning, at Watchmere Light. That’s all. It probably doesn’t mean anything other than that relationship is over.”
“Oh. Oh.”
Grimacing, I meet her gaze. “Yeah. Oh.”
“You saw him on your run, or…” She lets the or drift off meaningfully.
Water rushes over my knuckles, and I belatedly realize I’m squeezing the heck out of the bottle in my hands.
“So he saw you, too, then.” Fig hops over to the water puddled on the floor next to me, giving herself a quick bath.
Glad to have been of service, Fig.
“He’d gone on a morning swim.” I close my eyes, like that will shut out the memory of him dripping seawater like a Greek god. “We talked for a minute.”
Yeah, closing my eyes definitely didn’t help.
Gunner licks my ankle.
“Well, that definitely could explain the lighthouse vision part, huh?” Rose takes the water bottle from me. “Have you had coffee? Because I sure haven’t.”
We both look up at the fucked-up espresso machine, and I sigh. “My pistachio latte is done. Want to split it with me?”
“It’s probably cold now,” Rose says, then stands, brushing off her hands on the front of her jeans before offering me one. I take it, and my sister helps me stand on my own. “Why don’t we treat ourselves to Second Cup? Can you open later today?”
“You know I can. Tourist season is pretty much over.”
“Just making sure. I can always bring you back something.”
I glance down at Gunner, and the puddle of water Fig’s still bathing in. “No, I think getting out of here for a minute would help me… get it out of my head.”
The imprint of the lighthouse is still seared to the back of my eyelids.
Walking around and getting some coffee can’t hurt.
“Yep. You need caffeine. Hot caffeine. Not chunky pistachio mess.” She scowls at the cup I made. “Come on.” Rose’s hand moves up my arm until she links herself around my elbow, and I sigh, leaning on her, still slightly sick from the vision.
The vision, and from seeing Caleb.
Not that he made me feel sick, but the regret that I can’t ever seem to shake when I think of him, welling up from where I buried it deep inside me.
“Do you care about taking your apron off?” Rose asks gently, like she knows how fragile I am right now.
I hate being fragile, and I hate that she knows I am when it comes to him.
“Why would I care?” The question is brittle, and fraught, and tired all at once. “We’ve known everyone here our whole lives.” And the only one I’d care about the way I look left when I told him I couldn’t be with him anymore.
Funnily enough, he’d care the least about how I look.
“Okay, alright,” Rose says, leading me through the front door, leaving Fig and Gunner to their own devices as she locks the shop door behind her with her copy of my key.
The morning’s warmed already, and the scent of Second Cup’s roasting beans fills the air.
Rose hums a tune under her breath, one I don’t recognize, which means she’s likely working on a new song. It’s sad, but not hopeless, and I let her magic wash over me as we walk wordlessly to the little café down the street.
There’s a line out the door when we get there, a mix of locals and tourists, and Rose and I share a frown.
“Weirdly busy,” Rose says, and the owner, Mari Cruz, waves at us through the window, gesturing for us to come inside and bypass the line.
“What’s going on?” Rose asks her, confused. “Do you have an event today?”
“Everyone’s coffee pots seemed to break this morning.” Mari shoots a wary eye back at her line of machines. “I’m glad I had your sister service mine last week.”
“Must have been a power surge,” a resonant male voice says from just behind me.
My stomach swoops, because I would recognize that voice anywhere, and I already heard it once today. Rose tightens her grip on my arm.
“My uncle sent me a few emails saying there had been a lot of strange power surges out at Watchmere before he…” Caleb trails off, and Mari makes sympathetic noises.
“Here, you three, you sit over here.” She motions to a near-empty four-top table where Tom Gallagher is reading the news and sipping a cup of steaming black coffee. “I’ll bring you your usual. Unless you want something different?”
“I like the same things I always have, Mari,” Caleb says, staring at me.
I swallow hard and stare at the leather tassels on my shoes, my cheeks getting hot.
“Tom,” Mari says in a no-nonsense voice. “Make room for these three.”
Tom glares at us from above his spectacles, then ruffles the pages of the paper before going back to reading.
Rose laughs, a musical noise that has the whole coffee shop momentarily quieting. Anyone else might blame the scent of cinnamon and sugar filling the air on the café, but she and I know better.
Her magic is leaking out, just like mine did when it shorted out the espresso machine… and maybe all the other coffee makers in town.
“I’m sorry about your uncle, Caleb,” Rose says.
“He was sick for a long time,” Caleb answers, which doesn’t make it any less horrible, but we all nod like we agree.
“I’m sorry, too,” I find myself saying. “He was a wonderful man. We all miss him.”
My chair seems unnecessarily loud as it squeaks across the floor, and I plop down in it, rubbing my temples.
“Migraine?” Tom asks unexpectedly. “Coffee will help.”
He pushes his cup towards me, and I stare at it for a long moment, trying not to laugh at the thought of calling my errant visions a migraine — nearly laughing at the idea of telling Tom and Caleb that the Romantic sisters aren’t what we seem to be, not at all.
I won’t though.
There’s one thing I know for sure about our magic: the four of us have to be careful about who we trust, who we love.
Because how can we trust anyone to look past the magic and see us?
“Ivy?” Tom asks, and I realize he’s stopped reading, or pretending to, in favor of staring at me with an extremely concerned expression.
“It’s hard to lose someone you…” I drift off before I can add you love onto the end of that. I force myself to smile softly at Caleb. “I’m here for you.”
I cough, grabbing Tom’s mug then setting it down, relieved not to have to drink his out of sheer social awkwardness, when Mari bustles by, leaving an entire pot and cups for us on the table. “The town is here for you, I mean.”
“We’re all here for you,” Rose adds at nearly the same time.
I try not to notice as she pats the top of his hand.
It doesn’t bother me that she’s touching him. Not one bit.
Tom grabs the carafe of coffee and fills mine first, shoving it towards me with a meaningful furrow of his bristly brows.
Glad for something to do with my hands and mouth that doesn’t involve Caleb, I take it. It scalds my mouth, the back of my throat.
That’s a better alternative than making a fool of myself and saying whatever was on the tip of my tongue.
Better to scorch it right off.
“I’ve been going through all his things,” Caleb says, and if he notices how fucking awkwardly I’m acting, he doesn’t say it outright.
Small favors.
Or, more likely, Caleb still knowing me all too damned well.
“That sounds hard.” Rose kicks me in the shin. “We can come help, right, Ivy?”
I take another long drink of the coffee cradled in my hands, warmth seeping through the ceramic into my cold palms.
She kicks me again, and I nod. “Mmhmm.”
“You don’t have to do that,” he tells Rose, but he’s looking at me.
“Well, we can make you some food, right? The funeral was a while ago, so all those casseroles are gone… do you need groceries or anything? Candy?” She kicks me again, and I glare at her over my steaming mug.
Tom clears his throat.
“Pike brought me food last night, so there’s no need to go to any trouble.”
“Raymond’s a good man,” Tom agrees, and we all nod. As if any of us would disagree and say that Raymond Pike’s is actually a curmudgeonly old bastard — albeit with a heart of gold.
“I wouldn’t mind some of your sea salt and dark chocolate toffee, Ivy. I’ve always loved your sweets.”
Warmth that has nothing to do with the coffee blossoms deep in my chest, and I stare at Caleb for a long moment in mild disbelief.
Toffee was always our secret language.
He helped me perfect that recipe, in stolen moments at midnights and dawns, until we found the ideal ratio of butter and sugar and heat.
I’d leave it for him on his doorstep when I’d make a batch and he wasn’t around.
I’d leave it on his pillow when I’d have to wake and work early.
My throat gets tight as the memories threaten to choke me.
“Ivy would love to bring you some toffee.” Rose tries to kick me again, but it doesn’t take foresight to see it’s coming, and I move my leg so she gets nothing but air.
“Of course,” I finally manage. “It’s the least I can do.”
“Tonight?”
“Oh, I don’t know if I have time to add another—” My phone ca-chings in my pocket, the sound signifying someone’s placed a custom order in my store. “See?” I wave the phone. “I just got another order so I couldn’t—”
“It says it’s for sea salt and dark chocolate toffee,” Rose deadpans.
“I just put an order in,” Mari says as she walks by. “I thought I’d stock some of Caleb’s favorite while he’s in town.”
“Well, then, that’s settled,” Rose says, smug as I’ve ever seen her. “You’ll whip up a batch of toffee and take some to Caleb tonight.”
“Aw, now isn’t that sweet of you,” Mari tells me. “I tell you what, I’ll get some cold brew sorted for you too, Caleb. I’ll drop it by Sugar & Salt later today, okay, Ivy?”
“Sure.” As if I could say anything else.
“I’ll make you dinner, so it’s worth your trip back out to the lighthouse.” Caleb smiles.
“Back out?” Mari pipes up, taking her time refreshing our cups.
Tom snorts, his papers on the same page it’s been on the whole time.
“She ran into me this morning with Gunner. Who looks as good as ever.” The way Caleb stares at me while he tells this tidbit to Mari makes me feel like he’s not talking about my dog at all.
Which is a sign that dinner is a completely terrible idea that I cannot be trusted with.
“You really don’t need to feed me dinner.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mari tells me, wrestling my coffee cup out of my hands. To refill it, ostensibly, but it feels rude all the same. “You’ll take him the toffee and cold brew and you get a dinner out of it. Seems fair to me.”
I sigh, outmaneuvered.
“Besides,” Rose says, “It’s Posey’s turn to cook tonight, and from what she put on the counter this morning, it looks like her famous tuna casserole.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I close up the shop,” I tell Caleb quickly.
I’d do just about anything to avoid Posey’s tuna casserole.
Including having dinner with the man I used to be in love with.