Chapter 6
SIX
Finally, the flow of customers slowed enough for me to slide opposite Ethan, who’d taken up residence on a stool about fifteen to twenty minutes ago. “Guess what, guess what?” I performed a little jig, eager to brag about my superior manifesting skills, discuss how cute Graham’s note was, and share “Nova’s” clever reply.
Ethan lifted his head, along with bleary, bloodshot eyes, and I decided to pour the guy a drink before regaling him with my tale. The law firm where he was completing his internship was taking advantage of their free labor. They were running him ragged, and I was sure that also factored into his decision to return to Raleigh.
As he sipped his drink, I straightened ingredients and caught him up on the run-in with Graham.
The thick bottom of his glass hit the bar, and he licked foam off his upper lip. “Did you actually write ‘I’m so excited I might pee a little?’”
Judging from the slight curl of his lip, he did not consider it the best pickup line of the century. “Hello,” I said, “I’m not the one doing the peeing; Nova is.”
Uh-oh, my words had evoked the brow crinkle of dubiousness. Not a rare occurrence, and definitely not the critical acclaim I’d expected. “But I slept on it. Sending the note.” Taking more time to ponder my words and actions was supposed to prevent me from continuous embarrassment. Ethan had assured me it’d help, but so far, I’d failed to follow through, so there really was no telling. “I read it dozens of times over, and the jokes were still hilarious. Besides, Graham’s a dog person—so he’ll get it, right?”
Even worse than the brow crinkle of dubiousness, Ethan lowered his ridiculously blue eyes to the piss-colored contents of his glass, suddenly fascinated with the floating designs in the foam. His unfairly long eyelashes fanned his chiseled cheeks in a perfect demonstration of why, the first time he’d come in, I’d been stunned speechless and spilled his drink. That night, I’d run my gaze over his sculpted jawline, rounded shoulders, and firm pecs with plenty of interest.
But then he’d begun talking about his bad day. Hardly an uncommon occurrence at the Drunken Kraken, but somewhere between drinks two and three, he and I just clicked. Not on a romantic level. More like the type of connection that Anna sang about in Frozen, where we finished each other’s sandwiches, only without the villain twist. For the past two years, Ethan had been the ripped angel on my shoulder, while I’d been the bohemian devil on his. He reigned me in and helped me launch my Etsy shop, advising me to be informed rather than run solely on gut instinct, which we still weren’t on total agreement about. In turn, I pushed him to take bigger risks and give in to spontaneity once in a while. The guy was the yin to my yang, and one of the truest friends I’d ever had.
Which meant he knew full-well what was on the line when I crowded my way into his eyeline and said, “Tell me he’ll get it, Ethan. That he’s going to think a penned note from my dog is so adorable he’ll ask me out on the spot.”
Ethan brought up his shoulders, his shrug so casual when I felt everything so seriously, and his words came out with a wince. “Do you want honesty or hope?”
“You and your damn H words.” I blew out an exhale, my nerves fraying further as I gave an answer I wasn’t yet sure of myself. “Hope.” Yep, the instant it came out it, the truth of it rang through me. “I could use some hope.”
“Well, then, I hope he got it.” Ethan cast me an encouraging smile with far too much pity in the curve. “And honestly , your quirkiness is one of my favorite qualities.” He booped me on the nose and then dared to laugh at my pinched, insulted expression.
“Maybe let’s turn down the honestly, or it’ll squash what’s left of my hope.”
Ethan nodded, signifying he understood. “What I’m saying is”—he leaned forward, front legs of his stool rocking—“how couldn’t he like you?”
Ironic coming from a guy who liked me a whole lot, but only platonically.
I propped an elbow on the wooden counter, ignoring the hint of stickiness, and rested my chin on my fist. “One thing about working in a bar, you find out peeing one’s pants as an adult isn’t as uncommon as one might think. We’re not talking medical conditions, either. Just pure, inebriated laziness.”
“Ew.”
“You’re welcome,” I said with a laugh, snagging a fresh towel to clean my elbow and then the bar.
Zac came out from the back where the stock room and his office were. He gave Ethan the bro nod, a huge improvement from the early days of our friendship. It took months before Zac believed his newest regular customer wasn’t a danger to me in any way.
Not that long ago, he’d asked why Ethan and I’d never added benefits to our arrangement like he and Catalina had done. In comparing our situations, though, Zac had also provided the answer. Adding a new dynamic changed the entire dynamic, and honestly , I didn’t see Ethan that way anymore—couldn’t if I tried. He was just him, and I was just me, and in my heart and soul, I knew that was the way it was supposed to be. I had confirmation from the cards and everything.
Besides, he’d seen too much. How I’d lose myself to relationships, wrapped up in becoming everything the other person wanted me to be, until I’d sacrificed my feelings and poured all my energy into making it work.
Such an Aries thing to do.
As Ethan nursed his second beer, I volleyed back and forth on writing a follow up note to Graham explaining that I hadn’t peed my pants in decades—like, so long ago I couldn’t even remember.
During Zac’s read through, which I’d mistakenly agreed to, he put the kibosh on sending a single, solitary word until Graham replied to the letter Nova and I’d sent him already. “With love, Zo, you should probably stop while you’re already so far behind.”
Days off were magic.
They were when I caught up on orders from my online shop, sorted through my stock of crystals and waxes, and made extra candles. Today's creation was for healing emotions. I added scented drops of peony, water lily, and lavender to the heated mixture and then scanned my crystals as the soy wax began to set.
Amethyst for battling stress and calming negative energy, red jasper for grounding, and rose quartz, famously known as the “Stone of Love,” in case my customers needed help in that area as much as I did.
Next, I stirred in dried thistle and honeysuckle, the perfect pairing to represent spring and blissful beginnings. “Hmm. Maybe I should switch up the simple syrup in my new cocktail with honey.” A cinnamon lemon water infusion would pair nicely with allspice rum. My thoughts whirred, and I abandoned my candles and let inspiration steer me toward the kitchen.
Only I’d forgotten the messy state I left it in the other night when I’d actually cooked, and if I didn’t get it under control, Nova’d be eating things he shouldn’t and licking my dishes clean with his tongue.
Shoving aside dishes and stray ingredients, I cleared a spot for an old-fashioned glass, snagged the whiskey bottle off the top of the fridge, and got to mixing. I cranked my playlist through the speaker, sipping my drink here and there as I started dance-cleaning—life was too short for straightforward cleaning without an upbeat soundtrack.
Funny enough, I mostly tasted at the bar, and it’d been a while since a cocktail warmed my insides and left me all melty and buzzed.
Within a few minutes, I’d worked up a sweat. I caught sight of my glass and downed the last gulp, licking the spicy sweetness from my lip. “Man, that’s good.”
Missing a cherry and not quite winning-a-contest worthy but getting there. Perhaps more of a moonshine-y rye with a generous splash of Thai rum.
Another sip left me thinking the drink was too heavy and spicy to be universally beloved.
By song three, sweat beaded my forehead and a droplet slid from my neck to the valley between my boobs. I peeled the fabric of my T-shirt from my skin, holding it away and wafting it in an attempt to cool off. As much as I loved my cottage near the beach, the place didn’t have a lick of A/C, and when the sun set, it caused a hotbox effect without the fun of a contact high. I kept thinking I’d install a window unit, but there were always things I’d rather spend money on, and my landlord was so picky about every little change I made.
He also didn’t know about my puppy, per se, and I’d like to keep it that way—at least until Nova had been trained. My lease hadn’t prohibited pets but had two whole clauses about them, and there’d definitely be additional fees.
Oh well. I had a way to get cooler for free, so I peeled off my shirt and continued cleaning and sipping my new boozy concoction. Still too toasty after loading the dishwasher, I shucked my pants, grabbed a sponge, and got to wiping down counters.
Once I finished my cocktail, I’d grab my running shorts and pull them on. Right now, my jam was on.
Oh no, did I put the lids on the candles?
In the past, I’d assumed Nova wouldn’t be interested in eating wax and other non-food items, and boy had I been proven wrong. Sliding my phone into one of the cups of my bra, I shimmied my way into the living room and over to my craft table.
I froze in place at the empty, Nova-sized impression on the couch. My dog was no longer snoozing away, and the entire house was silent but the music. Not good.
“Nova? Do you need out?” I called. “Nova? Go potty?”
Nothing.
Since staying on task was tricky for me, I focused first on putting the lids on the candles. As I secured the last one, I heard the rattle of blinds back in the kitchen—Nova must’ve looped around through the tiny area that counted as my laundry “room,” right as I’d moved into the living room.
“Coming, baby,” I sing-songed, and then I went ahead and twirled my way into the kitchen, because again, my freaking jam was on.