Chapter 3 #3
Finn’s sitting behind the counter when I walk back in from the mayor’s office, his work laptop open, pencil tucked behind his ear.
It makes me laugh because Donna, his mom, does the exact same thing when she’s deep in her writing.
I move to slip past him, but he shifts and suddenly his solid chest bumps right against my breasts.
His eyes go wide and he turns bright red as his arms reach out to steady me.
His thumbs graze my breasts, sending tingles through my body.
“Sorry,” he rushes out, voice a little too high, looking embarrassed.
“It’s okay,” I say, holding back a nervous grin. “Thanks for watching the store and feeling me up.”
He glances out the window and back at me. “Do I need to get bail money? Are the cops coming for you?”
“Not yet,” I say, shrugging. “But give it time, it’s still early.”
He raises a brow. “That bad?”
I sigh and set my bag down. “Last week someone from the city told me if I don’t get the permit, it could put Salt & Root at risk too. These new permits are ridiculous. We need a new mayor.”
“I can talk to him if you want,” Finn offers, looking genuinely concerned.
“Good idea. Ask him how his medical coverage is.”
He leans on the counter, watching me with that half-smile that makes my pulse skip. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
“Too late,” I say, but my lips are twitching.
“We’ll get it figured out, Row,” Finn says as he shuts his laptop and tucks it under his arm. “In the meantime, just focus on your business. They won’t get away with this.”
“Thanks for watching the shop,” I tell him as I tie my apron back on.
“Stay out of jail,” he calls as he heads out the back door.
“Thanks,” I say as I step into the café inside the bookstore.
The smell of espresso and cinnamon rolls wraps around me like a warm and cozy spell.
The afternoon light pours through the big windows, the sunlight reflecting across the beams and around the shelves of books.
Ivy is sitting at a corner table with Donna, Finn’s mom, the two of them leaning over a stack of notebooks, coffee cups, and what looks like a rainbow explosion of colored pencils.
“Hey,” I say, walking over. “What are you guys doing? Feel like scheming with me about something?”
Ivy grins but tilts her head toward Donna. “Always. We’re plotting fun things for my children’s book. Wait till you see it.”
I smile, genuinely happy for her. “I can’t wait. It’s going to be amazing.”
She beams, eyes bright and full of that new kind of confidence she’s been growing into.
She started this whole new brand called The Good Witch, a mix of her art, her children’s book, and these adorable birthday parties she’s been planning for kids all over Wisteria Cove.
I swear it’s going to be a massive hit. Everyone’s already talking about it.
I told her she could use my apothecary shop anytime she wants to host them.
Donna looks up from her notes over her glasses, smiling my way. “We were just saying once we finish this next chapter, we’ll help you plot how to take down Mayor Sammy Briggs so you can get that permit of yours. Finn filled us in, sweetie.”
I snort. “Perfect, and of course he did.”
Donna smiles, her red lipstick curling up at the edges. “We’ll make a list. He won’t know what hit him.”
I pull out a chair and sit with them for a few minutes, listening to Ivy describe an illustration of a little witch helping her friends make potions for confidence.
Donna’s already talking about marketing ideas, theme songs, and merch, and I swear she’s about two minutes from pitching a movie deal.
It’s impossible not to feel proud of Ivy.
She’s finally found what makes her happy.
Her new business and her new fiancé Remy, Finn’s brother.
Everyone gives Finn and I crap about not getting together but it’s not just our friendship that would be awkward if we didn’t work out.
My sister and his brother are together. And not just together, but together.
And they’re perfect. Remy’s daughter Junie is the funniest kid ever.
She’s six and hilarious. Finn’s such a good uncle, too.
So, if things with Finn and I became awkward, it would make it awkward for everyone. And I’m not risking that.
After a bit of chatting, I head to the counter to order a coffee.
I spot my best friend Jessica by the pastry case, her blond hair in a sleek ponytail.
I haven’t seen her all week, which is weird for us.
We usually text daily and she visits me when she comes to get a coffee in the bookstore cafe.
She’s probably been busy. I wave as I walk over.
“Hey, girl! I didn’t know you were coming by,” I say, smiling. “Want to hang out later and catch up?”
She looks up from her phone as if she wasn’t expecting me. Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Oh, um, I have plans tonight. I’m going to a Pilates class.”
I pause, surprised. A tiny pinch hits me low in the chest before I can stop it. “Oh.” I force a smile, light and easy even though it feels tight. “Okay. Have fun then. We’ll catch up soon.”
Inside, it stings more than I want to admit.
The only Pilates studio in town is the one run by Vanessa and Marilyn, the she-devils of Wisteria Cove, queens of condescension and passive-aggressive sabotage.
Of all places for Jessica to go, it had to be theirs.
And she sounds excited. Like it is no big deal.
She’s one of my best friends. She knows what those two have put me through. A part of me expected her to avoid that place out of solidarity, out of loyalty, and the quiet, unspoken way best friends protect each other.
Still… it lingers. That soft, unwelcome ache. Because hearing her choose them, even for one class, feels a little like betrayal.
“Yeah,” she says quickly and adds, “soon.” She tucks her phone away and grabs her latte, heading for the door like she’s late for something.
I stand there second-guessing our interaction.
That was so weird. Something about her tone sticks with me, but I shake it off and head back toward Ivy and Donna’s laughter.
If Jessica wants to go to Pilates, that’s good for her.
I’ve got bigger fish to fry. Like a certain mayor who’s about to learn not to underestimate a Maren sister on a mission.
I pull out my phone and scroll until I find Remy’s name. He answers on the second ring.
“Hey, Rowan,” he says. “Everything okay?”
“Not really. But I’ve got an idea, and I need your help.”
“Should I be worried?” he asks in his responsible dad voice.
“Probably,” I say, smiling to myself as I head back toward my shop. “But it’s going to be fun.”