Chapter 17 #2
My potatoes are incredible, and I swear this man might be using the same magic I use in my candy store on these potatoes, because I take one bite of the perfect caramelized crispy exterior and the potato melts in my mouth.
Spicy, salty, savory. Everything you could ever want in a morning potato hash. Pure, pure potato magic.
Except magic has nothing to do with it at all, and it’s simply an old fisherman’s skill with a skillet.
Good stuff, that.
I inhale the food, savoring it, yes, but eating fast enough that when I finally come up for air, I feel slightly impressed with myself at how quickly the food on my plate disappeared.
When Pike comes back over, grinning at me with a large porcelain white cup — whipped cream practically stacked on top — he gives me a smug look.
“I always like when you come in here, Ivy Romantic. There’s nothing like another master of her craft enjoying your food, is there?”
He carefully sets the mug down, brushing his hands off in front of his apron.
“It was delicious,” I tell him honestly. “I could eat here every day.”
“Oh, come on down. I’m not going to stop you,” he says.
Caleb laughs at that.
Gunner whines a little and Pike pulls another dog treat out for him. I don’t even bother protesting. I’m not worried about Gunner becoming unhealthy because he gets a few dog treats.
“Should have asked you first,” Pike says a little bit ruefully. “I just can’t help it when that cute dog comes in here and makes that little whine.”
“He hasn’t had breakfast yet, so I’m sure he’s thrilled.”
Pike leans down and scratches Gunner’s ear and Gunner’s tail slaps against my bar stool, making it wobble a little bit.
“You haven’t had food yet? Your momma didn’t feed you no breakfast?” Pike asks, and Gunner whines softly. “Well don’t you worry about that, pup. I’ll get you taken care of.”
“Don’t — you don’t have to do that,” I tell him.
Caleb laughs. “As if you could stop him.”
Pike gives us both a rueful grin and wanders back into the kitchen, and it’s not even two seconds later before he returns with a plate of scrambled eggs and two pieces of bacon and sets the whole thing down for Gunner.
Gunner wags his tail and licks Pike’s hand in appreciation.
“I guess that’s better than the stuff I normally feed you,” I tell my dog. “Thank you.”
“Oh, please. I like that dog better than you. Better than most people.”
I should be offended at Pike’s proclamation, and the way Caleb laughs, but I can’t blame him.
“I swear I’ve asked you for that dog’s breeder every time you bring him in here,” he continues. “I don’t know why you won’t tell me where you got him.”
I have to laugh at that, even though a little bit of my stomach flips with guilt.
“That’s because I didn’t get him from a breeder,” I say honestly. “He showed up on my door one day.”
“Dogs like that don’t just show up at your door. I don’t know why you can’t just tell me where you got them.”
I start to laugh because it’s completely absurd that I’m telling the truth, and the only thing that he doesn’t know is that Gunner is my familiar and magical.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” I say. “That’s what happened. I’m sure you could find a flat-coated retriever breeder that has someone just as cool as Gunner.”
Gunner growls at that and another piece of bacon disappears.
Caleb gives me a side-eye then squeezes my knee under the bar counter.
“I know someone that has Chesapeake Bay retrievers,” Caleb says. “I’ll give you his number if you want. He raises good dogs, too.”
“Nah,” Pike says. “I don’t have time to take care of a puppy right now. I’m busy with my new girlfriend. Maybe one day.”
Caleb gives me a long, sly look. “Be sweet to see a puppy and toddler rolling around together.”
I choke on my coffee.
Pike gives Gunner another wistful little pat and disappears into the café to go check on the rest of the customers.
“I hope he washes his hands well,” I mutter.
“That’s extremely rude,” Gunner says.
Caleb gives me a long look.
“How is he fine to talk in a whole restaurant, but he couldn’t talk in front of me ever?”
“He knows no one can hear him from there, and if they did, they wouldn’t believe it,” I say quietly.
We continue to eat and a nice companionable silence settles over us both. It feels so natural to just sit here and enjoy the meal together without the pressure to talk, without the pressure to get to know each other.
Sure, there’s things that I want to know about Caleb. We’ve both changed. But we’re still, at our core, who we were all those years ago.
I feel free and relieved with him knowing exactly who and what I am in a way that I never have before. And it’s such a stark difference to how I felt the rest of my life that I could almost cry with the weight of it being gone.
Instead, I snag a piece of bacon off Caleb’s plate.
He just grins at me.
“You’re not mad?” I say, testing the waters.
“Why do you think I ordered extra bacon?” he says. “I know you.”
I take a second piece just for good measure.
“Good,” he says. “You’ll need that. I have a feeling cleanup today is going to be a whole lot of work.”
“Shit,” I say. “I’ve been so worried about everything else I didn’t even stop to think about my store. You think it’s flooded?”
“Well, only one way to find out,” Caleb answers matter-of-factly.
The fact that he doesn’t freak out, that he doesn’t even think about telling me that it’s probably flooded — just says that we’re going to go look. He’s steady in a way that I didn’t know I needed.
“OK,” I agree.
“Are you going to try your latte?” Caleb says.
“Of course I’m going to try my latte,” I say.
I pick up the drink. I put it to my mouth. I take a long, long sip.
“It’s pretty good,” I finally say.
Caleb reaches over and wipes whipped cream off the top of my lip with one finger then traces it along my top lip until I open my mouth and suck the whipped cream off his finger.
His pupils dilate and I give him an evil little grin.
“Did you want some whipped cream?” I ask innocently. “You should try the latte. You might need the extra energy later.”
He exhales, pushing his glasses up on his nose.
“For the flood cleanup?” he asks.
“For that, yeah. And maybe for something else too.”
“Bread baking,” he guesses. “Conversing with sea creatures. Calling the corners or whatever it is you witches do.”
All humor leaves my face and I suck in a breath.
Calling the corners.
Calling the corners.
The phrase repeats in my head and I try to figure out exactly why my entire body’s gone taut with something between anticipation and fear at the phrase. The kraken last night. The meeting with another Romantic…
I rake my hands through my hair, then pull my messy ponytail out and redo the whole thing. That can’t be right. It can’t be.
“What? What did I say?” Caleb asks. “What’s wrong?”
Hands shaky, I swipe the napkin in my lap over my lips then place it on the bar.
“I’m going to go to the bathroom,” I tell him. “I’ll be right back.”
I grab my purse from the hook where it rests under my chair, and unsteady on my feet, I weave through the crowd of tables and people and noise until I reach the bathroom.
Thankfully it’s unlocked and unoccupied, and I go in and turn the lock as fast as I can, bracing my hands against the sink and staring at my reflection.
Calling the corners.
I’ve heard of it. It’s a myth as much as anything else in witchcraft, so why am I having this reaction to it?
Maybe I just had too much bacon.
I splash some water on my face and wash my hands, taking a moment to recover.
And then I check my phone because I’m still not quite ready to go out there and figure out what the hell it was that gave me such a reaction.
I have about fifty new texts in my sister group chat.
Hazel: there’s a few runes and wards that could work
Hazel: nothing matches the one in the scrapbook Ivy said she saw
Rose: I’m trying to sleep
Posey: Put your phone on silent like a normal person
Rose: But what if there’s an emergency
Hazel: I don’t think it’s in here. I also just… I don’t know. You guys don’t feel like you recognize that rune?
I frown. I would recognize it if I’d seen it before… wouldn’t I?
Hazel: I’m gonna call grams.
Posey: No, you’re gonna ice your ankle and go to sleep. It’s three AM.
The three of them continue bickering for a long while in texts, with Rose finally putting her phone on DND around thirty minutes later.
The next set of texts are shorter.
Rose: I baked a fuck ton of your weird ass bread this morning Ivy. I texted Owen the recipe too and told him we could get it out to everyone today.
Posey: You did fucking not
Rose: Yeah, I did, because he has commercial ovens and a fuck ton of yeast or whatever
Posey: Traitor
Hazel: I’m trying to sleep
Rose: Ivy, are you awake
Hazel: I’m awake now. Did you bone him Ivy
“Christ on a bike,” I groan.
Someone knocks on the door.
“Just a minute,” I call out.
I wash my hands again for good measure, because phones are gross, and then I take a deep breath and leave the bathroom, slightly chagrined to see a long line to the bathroom has formed
I turn the corner and find myself face to face with Caleb and Gunner.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he says then plants a huge kiss on my forehead.
A couple of people I’ve known my whole life give us curious and delighted looks at that public display of affection, and Gunner yips.
“Are you ready to go check out your store and assess if there’s any damage?” he says. He holds up the latte. “I also had Pike put this in a to-go cup for you.”
“You’re the best,” I say, slightly relieved and leaning against him.
I really should care that everybody’s staring at us, but in this moment I don’t. I need him and I need his steadiness.
“Is everything okay?” Caleb asks.
“I don’t know,” I tell him honestly. “What you said, it made me feel… I don’t know,” I say, shaking my head. “It made me feel something that I don’t… I don’t know.”
“What I said about what?” he asks, completely perplexed.