Chapter 24
Taylor had been across town for a domestic case when Eloise called him and while Eloise and Ursula were sitting at the police station in the middle of downtown.
He'd barely been able to keep his head in the serious situation he was in, his thoughts going to Eloise and what was going on.
When he got back to the station and heard what had happened, his immediate thought was of Eloise and her steadiness.
He watched the recording unable to keep a light smile from his face.
She had this way about her, taking things just on the shy side of light and airy, while folding in the perfectly cavernous depth that gives conversations that pinch of sweet and smokiness to hold your wonder.
And seeing that in an investigation room, where he knew what the goal was and he knew how some detectives were willing to play to score brought a weight to his chest.
Something sour hit him in the jaw at the thought. His heartbeat thudded a little louder. And he realized what that meant.
He had learned early on with his curse that he could dance with the line of flirting and liking a woman for a short spell of time, but there was always a razor-sharp cut-off that he recognized.
He would offer kind excuses, a gentle reminder that he wasn't one to fall into a serious relationship.
He'd become that guy. And he had been mostly adjusted to that for years. Until Eloise Willow.
The other day when a barista had handed him his black americano he was looking at the earthen clay vase with tall pink and white flowers.
He hadn't been able to say why but they struck him as distinctly Eloise.
When he asked the barista what they were, not only did the barista tell him that they were foxgloves, but she told him the origin of their name, told to her earlier that day by Eloise.
Fairies gifted the slipper-shaped flowers to foxes to cover their feet when it rained in exchange for their cunning protection.
He'd smiled at the whimsy. And then laughed as he got into his patrol vehicle when he realized he couldn't recall the last time he had felt such a tickling thing as whimsy.
Which made him think of his mom and her penchant for making moments like holidays and birthdays magical.
His father would make fun of it, like she was a child.
And then thoughts of his father's darker attributes came to mind as he clenched the steering wheel tightly in his fists.
Darker attributes that led to ruined lives, both his mother's and his own. ..his curse.
He sat at his desk looking at his phone. That sour punch to his jaw wouldn't ease up. Because he knew what it meant. He knew what he needed to do.
The text sitting in his phone inviting him to help with a project at the cafe was still unanswered. He spent three hours doing paperwork, the pauses and blank thoughts not letting up causing him to get one-third of his usual work done.
The sound of him running his hand over his jaw, the scruff of the rough, short hair acted as a calming tether as his mind drifted far away. Once his shift was over, he walked to his truck, answered the text and left the station.
"I feel like everything is going to be okay," Eloise said behind the bar at The Black Cat Coffee. She, Ursula and Bess were drinking earl grey iced teas with sugared honey suckle as Jenson and Graham Bledsoe were varnishing the remaining tables.
"Good," Ursula replied. "Because I am in the unsure camp right now. What I am also in the unsure camp about is this Graham Bledsoe who is very cute, very nice, and an odd wrench in your story." She turned fully to look at Eloise who rolled her eyes.
"He is cute and nice and we had a great date. But," she paused. "I don't know. When he asked me for a second date I told him I would get back to him. I feel like that's an answer in its own way."
A snort drew their attention to Bess who said, "Men are idiots." To which both women gave her a look. "What? I have yet to experience their delightful side like you two have."
"You really need to tone back the 'men are evil' megaphone," Eloise said. "There are good men you're going to hurt who don't deserve that."
"I know," Bess ceded, her hard tone softening. She could do that, be straight as a stick and then fold in on herself like a curling willow branch. "I just, guys can be so mean," she said in a tender voice showing her vulnerable side.
Eloise cursed and pulled her into a tight hug that made Bess give Ursula a look. Eloise pulled back looking at Bess with a serious expression. "Those guys at your school, those aren't men. Please remember that. You didn't deserve any of that. Or my help in that area," she added.
"I forgave you for that," Bess said softly.
"I know. And I'm grateful." She pulled back and hoisted herself up onto the bar. "There's still something about that interaction at the club that is bothering me."
"You're an amicable person, but even that seemed out of character for you," Ursula said.
"Maybe you were hexed," Bess suggested.
All three of them paused, frowned, chewed on that thought for a moment and then looked at each other.
"Do you think that woman in the bathroom is the one hexing everyone around town?"
"If so, why does she have a vendetta against us? Who is she?"
"Oh, you should ask Taylor to help figure out who she is."
The mention of the detective brought a rush of pictures to her mind of the heat-inducing sort.
She hadn't told anyone, even Ursula, what had happened on this exact bar the other night. Why she hadn't told Ursula was simple; if she told her it would make it real. And then she would have to deal with the after.
A woman telling her person anything of value was like putting something in a vault; it said something about both the value of it and the trust they had in the receiver.
It can take many years, and much trial and error for people to learn that friendship, at its core, involves a form of collateral—offering parts of your heart and mind that hold great value.
When this trust is mutually honored, it creates a bond of exceptional depth.
However, if you choose unwisely, what you treasure may be disregarded or traded away without care.
This withholding of tender information was not a lack of trust in her dear friend; it was the fear of giving it so much value.
What would she lose then?
"Yeah, maybe," she finally said.
"Is something going on with the handsome detective we should know about?" Ursula asked with a conspiratorial tone. "He looked at the time on his phone more than usual while playing cards while you were on your date."
"How do you know it was more than usual? Maybe he loves keeping time."
"Or maybe he didn't love you being on a date with someone else," Bess said with a wiggle of her eyebrows. "He was rather distracted. We crushed them at cards."
Ursula held up her hand and the two high-fived without taking their eyes from Eloise who smirked.
Oh, how these two would react if she told them exactly how much he hadn't liked it. Not Bess. She was too young for that conversation. But Ursula would smile in that female-friend way and hunker down for the details.
Like how his hands had felt, rough and possessive on her skin.
The way his low voice rumbled when he tasted her, spreading her out for him to see and savor on top of the coffee bar.
Heat bloomed in her cheeks and she took a sip of her tea to cover it.
"Well, regardless of how much he loved or didn't love me going on a date with someone is moot."
"You don't hear the word moot used enough," Ursula remarked thoughtfully. "But I think you're wrong. I think it's the opposite of moot."
"Inarguably," Bess supplied.
Eloise pointed at her. "Nice. But again, may I remind you he won't date and I get why. I would be crazy to entertain that."
She was crazy. She was entertaining it daily. Hourly.
Ursula's green eyes held a hope that only someone who loves you so deeply can carry. "But you would entertain it. I mean, he's the kind of man that would make you would want to."
Eloise sat there and stirred a sun-bright honeysuckle around her glass.
"I'm scared to even say this, but I've never felt so settled as I do when I'm around him.
It never feels like there's the possibility of the other side of the coin with him.
There's no guesswork. I think we like the idea of men speaking poetry to us, but the idea of them being poetry-level complicated and twisting in and out of ambiguity is exhausting.
He's a book you can sit and read with ease, the words honest," she smiled the slightest, "and funny. "
Eloise thought of him seeing her from a distance as she slipped under the willow tree, and walking, through the dark meadow, just to see if it was her. He had made her feel like he'd hoped to see her. What a simple, honest, lovely thing.
"You're reading poetry again, aren't you?" Ursula turned to Bess. "When she starts reading poetry in the mornings she gets poetic herself."
Eloise sighed. "I'm working through Walt Whitman, actually."
Ursula's Cheshire smile made Bess laugh and Eloise shake her head.
"Anyways, yes. I like him but I can't think too much on it."
"Or too eloquently," Ursula pointed out.
She smiled. "Or too eloquently," she agreed softly.
"But you like him."
Something blossomed inside of her chest. It was the tight bud of the peony bursting into its full bloom. It happens just like that in a woman's heart; what starts as a marble softens over time and then the suddenness of the bloom is like it's own arrhythmia, it can be so alarming.
"I do," she nearly hiccuped, like the words could barely contain themselves and tripped coming out. "Damn it," she whispered, lifting her iced tea and drinking it like a hard liquor.
"Just tell him," Ursula said. "Worth it to at least be honest and see."