Chapter 16 #2
“No, the Romantics—that’s the last name of my friend Ivy and her two sisters. She’s always been extra about all this…” I trail off and wriggle my fingers in a sad attempt at signaling witchcraft.
I’m sure Prudence would take umbrage at that gesture, but she’s high-tailed it for the three men and the potato skins.
“Are you trying to say you know another witch?” Em asks.
“A family of witches?” Tara’s eyebrows are sky-high.
“That is what I was trying to say, yes.” I blow out a breath. “I’m not at my best right now. Shit.” I sniffle, the absolutely mortifying urge to cry swamping me like I’m a half-day away from starting my period.
Which I am.
“Oh no, no no no, don’t cry—” Em starts to fold me into a hug, but Tara pushes her away.
“No, don’t hug her, you’re going to make it worse.” Tara takes me by the shoulders, shaking me. “Chin up, bitch, there’s no crying in the brewery.”
“That’s not nice,” Em says, with a gasp that sounds suspiciously like a laugh.
I nod, my lower lip wobbling, when a shadow blocks out some of the already low light.
“Are they being mean to you?” Aiden asks, glaring at Tara, who drops her hands immediately.
“No, not at all.” I force a laugh, which only makes them look guilty as hell.
“Only to stop her from crying,” Tara says.
“I was going to hug her,” Em interjects. “But Tara said I was going to make her cry more.”
“That’s true, it would have made me cry more.” I have to look around Aiden’s broad chest to meet her gaze. “I needed the name-calling and shoulder-shaking.” I glance back up at him.
Damn, he’s huge.
I swallow hard, my throat dry because now I’m thinking about my cat’s advice.
Live and learn and get laid.
Truly, two thoughts I never imagined would cross my mind, especially not back-to-back.
“Come on, food will make you feel better.” His brawny arm drapes across my shoulders and he tucks me into his body as he pulls me back to the table.
He smells yummy, and I attempt to take a discreet sniff. I have zero clue what it is he smells like, but it’s manly and cologne-y and vaguely reminds me of a lumberjack.
Then I make the mistake of looking back over my shoulder, at where Em is giving me two thumbs up.
Tara’s busy miming a blow job.
I whip back around and ignore the burn of embarrassment and amusement creeping up my neck.
“Food will probably help,” I agree, my voice faint. “So this is your place, huh?”
“Yeah, what do you think?” His expression turns serious and he looks around the bustling brewery like he’s seeing it for the first time. “It’s nothing fancy, you know, there’s always something we want to change, or do—”
“I think it’s incredible,” I tell him honestly. “It’s a weeknight, and this place is packed. Plus, the bathroom was very clean. I know how seriously we both take that.”
That earns me a bark of loud laughter and he grins down at me, his eyes twinkling with humor.
It warms my chest, and my heart does a funny little flip.
A chair scrapes across the floor as he pulls it out for me and I sit down gingerly, hanging my now nearly empty purse on the back of it. Prudence immediately hops up into my lap, her whiskers twitching as she peers over the table.
“Cheese,” she says.
Who am I to deny the cat cheese?
I add a sampling of cheese to a plate as fast as I can, hoping no one says anything about the fact I have a cat in the bar.
Brewery.
Restaurant.
“Did you… bring your cat with you?” Aiden asks, mouth curving up into a smile.
“She wouldn’t stay home,” I say, scrunching up my nose.
“I’m not sure the health department would approve of that. I’m Jack, by the way, since Aiden is too rude to introduce me, and this is Ward.”
“We can call her an ah, emotional support cat.” Surely Prudence would help me magic up some paperwork to support that falsehood. “She’s hypoallergenic. Special breed.” I grimace, knowing damn well she’s not hypoallergenic.
“Is that right?” Aiden glances down at Prudence in my lap, scooching slightly closer to the table... and to me. “I could have sworn you found her yesterday.”
I give him a half-hearted smile. I’m a shit liar.
The big dude in glasses across the table faux-salutes me. “I’m Ward, Tara’s husband.”
I start to give him a wave back, change my mind halfway through the motion, and dive for a fried pickle instead. “Hi. I’m Sylvie. I own the old bookstore. Well, it won’t be old for long. I spent all day cleaning it and books should start arriving any day.” A ripple of excitement pulses through me.
Holy shit. I’m going to be opening soon.
“Tara has been talking about you non-stop today,” Ward tells me. “Welcome to New Hopewell.”
“She’s amazing. Her kolaches might be the most magical thing I’ve ever tasted.”
Prudence’s claws prick my thigh at the word magical.
I shove a chunk of soft brie in her face, and she snags it from my fingers like we’ve been eating pickles and brie together our entire lives.
“You are welcome to come get a kolache and coffee with me every morning,” Tara tells me. She laughs as Ward pulls her onto his lap, and Em scoots around the other side to sit next to Jack, who immediately places a sweet kiss on her temple.
And just like that, I’m all too aware that Aiden and I are the only uncoupled pair at the table.
“So, uh, Ward, what do you do?” Gross. Why don’t I go ahead and ask him how much money he makes while I’m at it?
“I work remote. Finance stuff and project management for a few different corporations.”
“It’s really boring,” Tara tells me, and Ward laughs, nodding.
“She’s not wrong. Compared to you all, it’s definitely a lot of spreadsheets and conference calls.”
“I love a spreadsheet,” I tell him.
“You and Jack both,” Em pokes Jack in the chest. “How did the bookstore thing happen, anyway? Did you buy it? I’ve been trying to find out how to get that property rented out or sold for years, and then all of a sudden here you are.”
“It’s the weirdest thing, actually…” I trail off, thinking about the grimoire that essentially fell into my lap.
Along with the talking cat, who is literally in my lap right now, eating cheese like her stomach and our new apartment can handle it.
Maybe they both can!
Maybe she’s also hypoallergenic!
I blink, realizing everyone’s been staring at me while I’ve been lost in thoughts of stinky cheese cats.
“I inherited it.”
“Oh, that’s so mysterious,” Em says, clapping her hands. “Wait.” She frowns.
I do a finger gun at her, then grab a whole handful of fried pickles and stuff them in my mouth. “Exactly.” A bunch of crumbs spray onto Prudence’s head.
Aiden snorts again, then pushes a long wooden board with a set of different drinks—beer, I presume—toward me.
“Do I want to know?” Jack asks Em.
Tara shakes her head. “You really don’t.”
“Don’t tell me we have ghost problems again,” Ward sighs, closing his eyes and hanging his head back.
I chew furiously because with Ms. Blood Poisoning on my lap eating brie, I’m not about to tempt fate and answer any questions. If the rest of these ninnies want magical cat-scratch fever, that’s on them.
Emotional support cat?
More like magical bioweapon cat.
“If y’all are going to try to make me look like an idiot, the least you can do is try my beer,” Aiden tells us all.
He’s watching me expectantly, so I take the darkest one on the end, then tip it up and chug it.
It’s not the cheap shit I’m used to, not that I drink a lot, but I did go to college in the 2010s. I can definitely chug a beer.
I get halfway through and put it down, though, because everyone is staring at me with slightly horrified expressions of disbelief.
“It’s good,” I say, and it comes out slightly wheezy.
I really don’t want to burp. I have a feeling none of us would like that, especially me.
“You just chugged half a porter. That’s the most alcoholic of all of them.”
“I can’t tell if he’s in love with her or outraged,” Em stage whispers.
“Sorry?” I try. “I don’t know much about beer. It tasted like a… cherry cordial, weirdly enough.” I grab it again, tasting it slower this time. “I like it.”
“You’re supposed to start with the lightest,” Jack tells me, eyes darting between me and Aiden like he’s watching a tennis match. Not that I know anything about tennis.
“Oh. I didn’t know.”
“You can drink them however you like,” Aiden tells me. “Jack is a stickler for rules.”
The rest of them all groan and roll their eyes at that.
“Oh, come on,” Em says, sipping the lightest of the set of beers in front of her. “We all know you’re the most outrageous when it comes to this stuff, Aiden.”
“This stuff is my art, Emma.” Aiden glares at her.
“Oh,” I say again, in a small voice. Shit. I insulted him by chugging the beer. Today is not my day. “This is definitely better than getting lemon Pledge thrown at me.”
“Who the fuck threw Pledge at you?” Aiden asks me, his voice low and furious.
Em and Tara share a look, and I nervously grab the lightest colored glass. “Uh, it was nothing.”
“No, it’s not nothing, if someone came into your store and assaulted you—”
“Ghosts,” Em says. “She has a ghost problem.”
I cringe, shrugging my shoulders and nodding in agreement. Prudence puts her paws on the tabletop and I really, really hope she doesn’t decide to start talking.
Luckily, she sits back down, giving me a long look before curling up in a little ball on my thighs. I dust a few crumbs off her coat as a gesture of goodwill.
“Oh, is this how it’s going to be tonight?”
“What’s this one?” I tap a nail against the next glass. It’s frosty, and I lick my lips in anticipation. The porter sufficiently loosened me up, and after all the cleaning I did today, a lighter beer does sound incredible.
When I look up, Aiden’s staring at me, something dark in his gaze.
Jack clears his throat. “It’s our take on a Belgian White. Lighter, crisp. Less alcoholic than the porter you tried to slam.”
“That does explain the insta-buzz.”
I sip it thoughtfully, trying to appreciate all the citrus-y flavors. “You know,” I finally say after another gulp. “This would taste really good with one of your spicy kolaches.”
Tara slaps her hand on the table. “Thank you. That’s what I’ve been saying.”
“Like a pairing, right? Oh my god, how fun would that be? Tara, you could pair the beers with your kolaches, and then I could pair the beers and kolaches with a coordinating book.”
“Books and Boos and Kolaches doesn’t have the same ring to it as just Books and Boos,” Aiden says, a note of reluctance in his voice.
“Well if we don’t get rid of the boos infesting my books, we’re not going to have a books and anything.” I tilt the glass up, draining it.
I deserve it.
“Man, y’all are really going all in on trying to make me believe in ghosts, huh?” Aiden sips his own beer.
“I wish,” I tell him.
“I don’t have to bake for your event with her, Aiden. But she’s right about that beer tasting good with the jalapeno venison sausage roll I make. Or any of the jalapeno klobásník, really.”
“No, it’s smart to offer food with beer at events. We all know that after that first fall festival when everyone got so sloshed they were falling down.”
Jack huffs a laugh, and Em covers her face with both hands. “That was a disaster.”
“We definitely want food,” I say slowly. “But not if it’s going to bother you, Aiden.” I touch his wrist, and he glances down at where my fingertips meet his skin.
“It’s not going to,” he shakes his head, and I snatch my hand back.
Probably shouldn’t just like, try to hold his wrist. Sends the wrong message.
That I’m into holding wrists, for one.
“Can I have some potato skins?” I ask. “I feel the need to carb load like it’s freshman year.”
Aiden half stands, using a set of silver tongs to set several cheese-laden potato halves on my plate.
Three should be enough. It’s like one and a half potatoes. With all the fixings.
“I want one more, please,” I tell him. “And sour cream.”
He adds two more and a dollop of sour cream, then looks at me expectantly.
“Perfect,” I tell him, beaming. “Beer, cheese, and hot potatoes. What more could a girl want?”
“An unhaunted bookstore, probably,” Em says.
I point at her. “Correct. Unless the ghosts were useful and into shelving books.”
Tara tilts her head, a thoughtful cant to her lips. “You might be onto something there.”
“What, like retraining evil spirits?” I dip the hot potato into sour cream, then take a blissful bite.
“Y’all have got to stop.” Aiden groans. “I’m not falling for whatever this is.”
Tara rolls her eyes. “It’s not all about you, Aiden.”
“Jack, seriously,” he pleads, looking to the other man for help.
“Dude, we’ve both told you plenty of times about shit that’s happened at our places,” Ward pipes up. “You don’t believe it, fine. But I know what I’ve seen and felt, and that shit is out there.”
Jack nods in agreement, and Em grins at me conspiratorially.
This sets off a round of conversation about the different things that each of them have experienced—though Em and Tara steer the conversation away from any outright mention of witchcraft.
They include me in their jokes, explain shared histories, and all in all, it’s a lovely time.
I started the day thinking I might be losing my mind, and I’m finishing it with a group of people who prove I’m not.
And I have hot, cheesy, bacon-y potato skins.
Definitely not a bad way to end the day.