Chapter Eight
Lissa
Lissa rolled the peach-sized glass ornament around in her hand for a second, then returned it to the bowl on her coffee table with all the others.
The morning sun beamed down upon her small cottage, transforming her living room into a mystical wonderland with light refracting off the nearly hundred pieces of glass artwork scattered throughout.
From her bare white walls to her well-loved white couches that would wreck someone’s back if they tried sleeping on them, nearly every inch of her cottage sparkled with shattered rainbows.
Beyond the large floor-to-ceiling windows that filled an entire wall, the Oregon ocean warred with her tiny cottage to see which could gleam and glisten the brightest. Her home was the perfect little haven to hide from the world and one of the reasons she fought so hard to keep her life in Seacliff.
She glared down at the bowl of glass ornaments in front of her but resisted the urge for probably the fifth time that month to chuck them out into the sea.
Normally Lissa savored the mornings when she was able to get her ass out of bed early enough to appreciate how the rising sun combined with her most prized glass pieces, but that was before her entire life got turned upside down six months ago.
Now, the early mornings were less a luxury and more a necessity, which somehow dimmed their beauty.
Instead of naturally waking up to the sun streaming through her wispy white curtains, she was ripped from sleep by the caustic blare of her alarm clock.
She’d tried setting it to play something soothing like ocean waves, but it was so similar to the natural sound outside her window that her body refused to obey.
In the end, Norwegian death metal was the only thing that actually pulled her from the coziness of her queen bed, but it didn’t exactly set her in the best mood.
“You know if you glare at those ornaments any harder, you’re going to melt them.”
Lissa didn’t so much as twitch at the sudden sound of Daria’s voice.
She was so used to her best friend letting herself in whenever she pleased that she had long gotten used to finding Daria cleaning out her fridge, using up all the hot water in her shower, or borrowing Lissa’s coffee maker.
And all her coffee. It was like having a roommate that didn’t pay rent or clean up after themselves, but you loved them too much to make a fuss.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lissa muttered, but the frown on her face didn’t exactly fade as she picked out another ornament and ran her fingers over the smooth glass.
Perfection. Not a single misplaced bubble.
It should be nestled in a box in someone’s house, waiting through the long hot summer until it would once again resume its place of honor on their Christmas tree.
Instead, it sat in a bowl on her table, frequently the subject of Lissa’s ire.
“I don’t know why you even keep those sitting out,” Daria commented, plopping down in the white recliner opposite where Lissa sat cross-legged on the floor.
Lissa sighed. “They’re a reminder.”
Raising an eyebrow, Daria took a sip from the coffee mug Lissa had briefly abandoned on her counter and would now never get back. “Reminder of what?”
“Never put your fate in someone else’s hands,” Lissa answered, her voice more bitter than she liked.
“Says the woman who less than a week ago had a witch cast a destiny love spell on her.”
Lissa cringed. She still hadn’t told Daria the truth about why she actually met up with Ria. “Yeah, well, that was different.”
“How so?”
“It just was, ok?” Lissa snapped. “Can we let it go?”
“Whatever you say, grumpy pants.” Daria took another gulp of Lissa’s vanilla oat milk latte. “By the way, did you know you have a white squirrel sleeping on your porch railing out back?”
“Yeah, I’ve seen him. I used to have a brown one that hung around a lot. I left him little piles of cashews and nicknamed him Munchy. He disappeared a while ago though. I keep imagining him and the white one had a turf battle and Whitey must have won.”
“Huh,” Daria said, shifting her body to look out the kitchen window at the mystery critter. “I didn’t even know there were white squirrels.”
Lissa shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe he’s albino. I don’t judge.”
“Fair enough. I take it you’re heading into the studio soon?” Daria’s eyes drifted over Lissa’s ripped jean shorts, faded gray tank top, and unlaced black combat boots.
“Yeah,” Lissa replied, pushing herself up to sit on the couch.
“The summer tourists are ramping up, and I need to get some pieces blown. I was thinking of doing an artistic serving dish that curls up like a wave at the end. Sort of half functional, half art piece. The vases aren’t selling that well lately. ”
Daria stretched her long legs out in front of her and yawned.
“That’s just because we haven’t had many customers.
Why Briggs thought buying a studio space at the end of the street was a good idea is insane to me.
The few people that make it all the way down there have already blown their money on the other souvenir shops they passed. ”
“Actually, it kind of fits with all the other piss-poor choices he made,” Lissa grumbled, tying up the laces on her boots and cursing when she realized she missed a loop. “He might have been a great glassblower, but he was worse at business decisions than I am.”
Daria laughed then tossed back the remainder of her pilfered coffee.
Setting the empty glass on the coffee table, she climbed to her feet and wandered over to a shelf of knick-knacks.
She plucked a photo from among the assortment of tiny glassblown animals, fruit, and odd sculptures.
Handing the photo over to Lissa, she said, “I think you should dye your hair blue again. Or maybe try green.”
Lissa took the photo. Tracing her fingers over the image of her and Daria tossing back mojitos on the beach two years ago.
She winced at the spiky pale-blue style she thought she could pull off at the time.
That particular dye job combined with her lack of tan had made her resemble a walking icicle.
She handed the photo back. “First off, you know I swore I’d never go green. I don’t want to look like I have snot on my head. And second, why do you even care what color my hair is?”
Daria dropped the photo back on the shelf, almost knocking over a glass dolphin in the process. “As much as I love the pink you’re rocking, I was thinking it kind of clashes.”
Lissa glanced around at her pure white interior style. “With what?”
“With Ria’s red hair,” Daria replied, grinning as she crouched down beside Lissa and analyzed her currently vibrant pink strands.
Lissa groaned and playfully shoved Daria, knocking her back on her butt. “Oh. My. God. Are we back on this? You’re like a dog with a bone.”
“While I do love me a good bone,” Daria said, winking suggestively up at Lissa from her position on her back, “this is about you. I saw the way you looked at the Elixir Enchantress. She was enchanting something all right, but I don’t think it was an elixir.”
Lissa rubbed her hands over her face, then glanced at the smartwatch on her wrist. If she was going to get a good chunk of blowing in before her ex showed up at the studio, she needed to get moving. “Would you please just stop? Yes, she was hot. Is that what you want to hear?”
Daria clapped her hands together. “Now we’re making progress. I knew you only called the witch because you were craving a taste of her sweet, sweet elixir.”
Lissa climbed to her feet and trudged into the kitchen to make another coffee for the road. “You’re the worst, you know that?” she called back over her shoulder.
“I’m the best and you do know that,” Daria sang. Skipping into the kitchen a second later like a sugared-up toddler, Lissa’s bestie jumped up on the counter and poked at her. “Seriously, weird witchy woo-woo aside, this chick is smokin’. Why are you not already knuckle deep in her honey pot?”
“I think that might be the crudest thing you’ve ever said,” Lissa replied, sliding a travel mug under the spout of her coffee maker.
“Oof,” Daria replied, clutching at her chest in mock suffering. “I hope not. I’m losing my touch if it is.”
“Funny,” Lissa replied sarcastically, adding a heavy dose of oat milk to the fresh brew. She considered frothing it first, but she didn’t have the time. Her chances of having a delicious latte for breakfast disappeared when Daria walked in the door.
“Always,” Daria chirped. “But you haven’t answered my question,” she pointed out, swiping Lissa’s finished coffee and taking a big slug.
“I have my reasons,” Lissa growled, snatching back her mug and securing it in a vice grip.
“Which are? Come on, Lissa,” she whined, bouncing on the counter. “You tell me everything.”
“Fine,” Lissa relented. “You want to know the truth? I only reached out to Ria because I recognized her as one of the people who worked on Smooth Expression’s failed marketing campaign last winter. I thought I could get some info out of her.”
Daria gaped at Lissa open-mouthed for a minute, her earlier childlike excitement giving way to an impersonation of a shocked gargoyle perched on the countertop. “You did what?”
“See. This is why I didn’t want to tell you. That look on your face.” Keeping one hand on her coffee, Lissa dug through the kitchen drawer for the vanilla extract. It wouldn’t be the same as Mixie’s, but if the milk in her coffee was going to be cold it would at least be flavored, dammit.
Daria waved a hand in front of Lissa, tearing her attention away from the messy jumble of spices. “And by ‘look on my face,’ do you mean the one that says ‘I don’t even know who you are right now?’ That look? Because I don’t. This isn’t like you, Lissa. You don’t do underhanded shit like this.”