Chapter 12 Lady Hawk #3
"There's this wild violet that grows here, the common blue, and if you dry them out in the sun and then crush them into a fine powder to dust over a thick latte or cappuccino foam, the taste is like," she lifted her head thinking.
"Like, sun-warmed honey, but just a hint of it. It's like tasting whimsy and honesty."
"You're odd, Eloise Willow."
And she understood by the way he said it that he meant it in the most kind and generous way.
"I'm going to ask you a personal question," she warned.
Her heart was beating harder, her palms began to sweat.
It wasn't the hormonal zigzagging inside of her this time.
This time it was personal. She'd been thinking about the detective.
A lot. A man hadn't captured her attention in a long time and that had to mean something.
"I feel like we just went through a religious experience together so I'll allow it."
"Why don't you date?" When he looked at her she held up a hand. "I'm just curious because you're not," she tilted her head and shrugged a shoulder, "the worst."
He laughed, the sound clear and filling her ribs. "I'm taking from that, you think I'm handsome and absolutely the best."
She stopped walking and pulled on all of her bravery.
"Yeah," she replied. "I think you're interesting and I like talking to you.
" What she didn't outright say was that she was attracted to him in a way she hadn't felt in years.
Maybe ever. She didn't say it, but the way she connected her amber eyes to his was intimate and she watched his widen with a spark of recognition that swiftly shuttered and turned to jest.
She understood building walls. She knew that some walls were built with humor and smiles.
"Are you saying you like me, Eloise Willow?" His tone was teasing, but his energy was alert and when she smelled the sweet orange turn sharp, she knew he was worried, anxious. And the bravery she'd pulled upon slipped.
"I can tell the baristas not to serve you, you know." Her teasing matched his, making light of what she had made serious. He didn't date.
His face turned serious in a flash. "That is the meanest thing anyone has ever said to me." Then he let out a great sigh, the kind held inside him for a long time gathering dust. "I was cursed. I can't fall in love."
She stopped walking and after two steps he realized she had so he turned around and stopped to look at her.
"I know it sounds crazy and the only reason I'm telling you is because you live in The Lost Souls House and you just had a hawk give you a present and," he held up his cup, "I am not convinced this isn't some kind of magic. "
"You can't fall in love?"
He shook his head, that dimple in his cheek prominent but his smile sad.
"It's a bit of a story, that maybe I'll tell you one day, but no.
I can't fall in love. And if I can't love a woman, then why date?
I made a few mistakes when I was younger and decided that I wouldn't put someone through that. "
Lemon drop candies and flickering flames over burning hickory wove through her senses as immense sadness filled her for this man.
"Taylor, that's horrible. Someone did that to you? Also, what is with this town and cursed men? The cursed men-to-population ratio is out of control."
He shrugged a shoulder, that side smirk that showed off his dimple trying to assuage the pain that she could feel coming from him. "Like I said, long story. But hey, I get to have cool friendships with women who attract hawks. Tell me I'm not a lucky man."
She smiled, though the pain was like a soft current flowing from him. "You are lucky. I'm a great friend."
"And a Disney princess," he added.
She pointed a finger at him with raised eyebrows. "Exactly. Want me to sing for you?"
His laughter was warm, a thank you for her easy camaraderie, her offered friendship to a cursed soul.
Two cats joined their walk flanking either side of them like tiny sentries; one she knew was Sulphur, and the other was a fluffy black and grey thing Ursula had recently named Georgia.
As they walked up the winding, wooded road to The Lost Souls House, Taylor was telling her what he enjoyed about being a detective in this small, historic town he had grown up in.
She'd asked and he answered easily because he found himself at ease in her presence.
He wasn't one to offer up much in the way of his thoughts and feelings as he found himself guarded more often than not, but here with her there was a sense of calm.
No agenda, no games. He didn't have the thought that she was flirting or testing him.
"Okay, why did you want to walk me home? Seemed like you had something to say."
He nodded and everything shifted then. The easy camaraderie evaporated and her nose picked up the smell of caution.
"Okay, let me set you up with this guy."
She was standing on a porch step above where he stood on the herringbone brick walkway. Both cats traipsed off in different directions, tails swishing and attitudes unbothered.
This again?
"Why?"
"I don't know," he answered with honesty in his voice but hesitation in his eyes.
She knew why. He knew why. But to speak of it would be to name it, and naming a thing was a very potent kind of honesty she wasn't sure either of them could afford.
And because she was fearful of how much she liked the detective in a way that felt pure like the first snow of winter, and knowing he would never feel the same way, she said yes.
He not only told her he didn't date, that he was cursed, and that he thought of her as a friend, he was trying to set her up with someone else.
The only way he could have made his disinterest clearer was if he made a sign and held it up each time she saw him.
It might help the butterflies that erupted inside her when she saw him and his adorable dimpled smile.
She imagined them as zebra longwings, fluttering around and landing on her ribs in black and white striped hope. No more hope. He was a closed door.
"But make it Saturday morning, nine, at Grand Park. Field 34."
He frowned. "That's a soccer field."
"Yep. See you later, detective." She waved and stepped into the house where she found Casper laying his big head on Kelsea's lap in the living room. She sometimes came here to write articles when her apartment felt too lonely.
"Hey, lady. Ursula here?"
"She's in the back cursing at some weeds."
Eloise nodded like it was a normal occurrence. "Want some tea? I'm going to make a batch of shortbread and listen to music."
"Yep." Kelsea gave Casper a loving pat and kiss before she extricated herself from underneath him and followed her down the hallway. "How was the coffee shop?"
"Great," she said with a wide smile. "Got in some incredible coffee and it felt good getting back into slinging caffeine and making people smile with drugs."
Kelsea laughed and poured water into the tea kettle. "I heard from three different people that the coffee today was out of this world."
"Really?" Warmth filled Eloise's ribcage as she pulled out mixing bowls, flour, cold butter, powdered sugar, and salt. "I'm thinking of asking Ursula to dry flowers and herbs for tea mixtures for the Black Cat. Shellee was on board and excited. How old is she?"
"Shellee? She's in her sixties. Spry as a kitten, though."
"I believe that. She's sharp."
The Dutch door opened and Ursula walked in wearing a straw hat with a large polka dot bow and her gardening overalls.
"Get the weeds?" Kelsea asked as she pulled open one of the garnet cabinets for mugs.
"Oh yeah. Those sonsofguns got the message," Ursula looked pleased with herself.
"You're cursing at the weeds? No judgment, just curious about this new eccentricity," Eloise said as she started creaming the butter and sugar.
"You know how studies have shown that plants are more sentient than we understand and that if you sing to them or talk kindly to them, they grow bigger and stronger?"
"Ahh, so you're testing the opposite for the weeds," Eloise said nodding. "I like it."
"That actually sounds therapeutic," Kelsea added. "Maybe I'll talk down to some ragweed later."
Eloise smiled then remembered the tea. "Oh hey, do you have any chamomile or violets in your garden?"
"Yep. I have two different kinds of chamomile and two varieties of violets. Want me to dry some out?"
"Yeah, with spearmint, lemongrass, and a few different kinds of roses?"
"Fine. But only if you bring me coffee next time you come back from the coffee shop. Rude that you didn't."
"You were just there," Eloise laughed. "But fair," she agreed then turned on the mixer.
Kelsea picked out the music and helped her roll out and press the shortbread while Ursula read with her feet propped up on the stool.
The camaraderie was easy, buttery, and made for a great afternoon.
No more signs of her past and the nightmares, when she did sleep, had stopped.
So she would enjoy this soft afternoon with her friends, doing something she loved and trying to absorb this moment of peace, even as her mind drifted back to the way Taylor had looked at her when she all but confessed her feelings to him; scared, needing an exit.
It landed harshly against her mind and she couldn't shake the sharp orange smell from her nose.
Why did the first man she was interested in have to be a cursed one, and one who would never look at her the way she wanted?