Chapter 3
“Give that girl a break,” Luke’s voice carried through.
She winced, knowing they were talking about her, which she knew was a losing battle with Lucian.
“She deserves everything she gets,” Lucian replied. “Even this broken machine, for how she uses her magic to manipulate people.”
A cold dread washed over her as the accusation, sharp and unwelcome, echoed in her ears, a sound that made her stomach clench.
“Boy, one day you’ll see how wrong you are, and it will be too late to fix,” Luke sighed.
A snorting sound echoed from the kitchen; she imagined Lucian making that sound, his brow furrowed and his mouth set in a thin line.
The sound of clanging came through as they must have started working on the machine.
She sighed, trying to calm her frayed nerves.
I knew I would see him. Luke warned me. I am over him; I am over the trauma.
I have moved on and have a happy life. She told herself, even though she knew the thoughts were a lie.
If I am over it, why don’t I go out on a second date?
A muffled curse came from the back, followed by a metallic screech, pulling her from her thoughts. She grabbed a cloth and started cleaning the countertops.
“It’s not pulling the pressure right, Pop,” she heard Lucian say. “The whole group’s head is getting too hot. I think the main seal is shot.”
Luke’s voice was softer, closer to a sigh. “Damn thing is nearly as stubborn as you, son. What’s the verdict?”
“We need a new thermoblock gasket and a flowmeter to be sure we clear out the back pressure,” Lucian replied. “I can patch it for now, but I’ll have to order the parts. We can get it fully repaired when the parts show up.”
“Tony gets me parts for the beast, usually within twenty-four hours,” Luke replied.
“Good,” Lucian grumbled. “We can get this job done and not come back ever again.”
Goldie’s grip tightened on the polishing cloth. Tomorrow. That meant another day of forced proximity. Another day she had to guard her heart behind a shield of indifference while listening to his sarcasm and not so subtle hints about what a shitty person he decided she was.
She walked past the shop window, catching her reflection in the glass.
She looked down at her clothes: the torn jeans she had patched with white lace, the ridiculously oversized, baggy green sweater she practically lived in, and her comfy, scuffed sneakers.
No makeup, hair pulled back—the look of a woman who was done for the day and hadn’t cared how she presented herself to the world.
An icy wave of inadequacy washed over her.
She had hoped to look like she was thriving, successful, and moving on when she saw him again.
She needed the armor of looking good to show him she was doing well, not the “threw some clothes on” look she currently wore.
The professional polish she’d managed during their brief conversation felt like a total lie now that she saw the evidence of her comfortable, but utterly un-glamorous, reality staring back from the glass.
Finally, the kitchen door creaked open, and the two males emerged. Luke gave her a tired smile. “Sorry, Goldie. A temporary fix is in place. We’ll be back tomorrow morning with parts. Should have you running velvet espresso by noon tomorrow.”
“Sounds like a plan, Luke,” she said, managing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She focused only on his father. “Just bill my account as usual.”
Lucian, meanwhile, didn’t spare her a glance. He was already walking toward the door, his focus entirely on the tool bag slung over his shoulder as he made his escape. The door chime rang, and then they were gone, leaving behind only the lingering scent of myrrh and coffee grounds.
The shop was quiet again. Ellie was in the corner, sweeping up Nibbles’ latest mess. Goldie walked slowly to the kitchen, her feet heavy.
She looked at the espresso machine. It hummed back to life, obediently pushing a thick, dark shot into a waiting glass. It was working. But the machine wasn’t fixed, it was patched. A temporary solution to a deep mechanical problem. Just like the fragile peace in her heart.
She slammed her fist onto the stainless steel counter.
He was back. She had seen him. He had spoken to her.
He would be back tomorrow. And she was devastated to admit that, despite the anger and the betrayal, the tiny, stupid part of her heart that still remembered what he felt like was humming louder than the machine.
Those nights of sweet first love and first kisses—clumsy and desperate, tasting like cheap cherry chapstick and the terrifying promise of forever.
The memories were not dusty artifacts but fresh, aching wounds now.
She remembered them meeting in secret by the creek, his scent clinging to him like the damp earth after a rain.
She recalled the stolen glances in the halls of their high school, a secret language only they shared.
He had looked at her then with those golden-brown eyes, eyes filled with such genuine, breathtaking affection that even now, her body betrayed her, yearning for that feeling.
How could he look at me like that, only to turn around and claim it was all a lie, a fabricated spell?
As the question settled in, another thought hit her.
I’m not over him. And that made her angrier than any lie he had ever believed about her.
The anger Goldie felt was a hot, useless thing, curdling the fragile peace she’d spent a decade building.
It tasted like ash in her mouth, and suddenly, the familiar sting of tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.
She clamped her lips shut, a physical refusal to let them fall.
She wouldn’t give the ghost of Lucian the satisfaction of breaking her again.
The sharp, high chime of the front door broke the silence. Goldie flinched, pulling her hand away from the counter. Her heart pounded a frantic rhythm against her ribs—what if he had forgotten a tool? What if he had come back?
Then a familiar, soothing voice carried into the kitchen—Lauren’s voice. “Morning, Ellie! I’m starving, give me two Lavender Scones and a Moonlight Matcha.”
Ellie, thank the Gods, could handle the customers coming in. A huge, shuddery sigh of relief escaped Goldie, and the tense knots in her shoulders loosened slightly as she heard Ellie take the order. She just needed a minute, a little magic, a brief distraction to steady her nerves.
She retreated further into the back kitchen area, a small, cluttered space reserved for her special brewing and spell-work.
To keep herself anchored in the present, she needed something strong and distracting.
She decided to make herself a dark chocolate espresso, a rich, complicated potion designed to soak up excess emotion.
Nibbles was still zooming around the high-ceilinged room, flying chaotic loops near the spice shelves as if he radiated the inner conflict she was trying to hide. Goldie barely registered him, but focused on the task at hand.
She reached for the block of dark chocolate, deciding a double shot was required.
She set the double boiler on the antique gas stove, the blue flame popping to life beneath the copper pot.
As the dark, heavy chocolate melted, she reached for her spice jars and added a generous shake of cinnamon.
The comforting, spicy scent filled the air, briefly overwhelming the lingering smell of him.
Next, she started vigorously whisking the local wildflower honey to create a thick, creamy foam.
It was as she was immersed in the hypnotic rhythm of the whisk that she lost sight of Nibbles until she heard it—a distinct splash. Goldie turned quickly, the whisk arrested mid-air.
Perched precariously on the high shelf above the stove was Nibbles, his tufted tail twitching in guilty triumph.
The catastrophe was spread across the gleaming chrome of the stovetop.
Not one, but two bottles of her enchanted syrups lay tipped over, their contents dribbling slowly across the metal surface.
She watched in horror as Nibbles, emboldened by his success, moved to knock another one over.
“Nibbles, no!” she yelled, dropping the whisk.
It was too late. The third bottle tipped over, adding its glittering, multicolored stream to the sticky mess.
Sighing, Goldie shooed the self-satisfied Grifflet away. She surveyed the damage, rubbing her temples. She wasn’t sure if any of the spilled magical liquids had dripped into the melted chocolate in the boiler.
She looked at the three fallen bottles: they contained magical syrups that could grant spontaneous singing, temporary floating, or a sudden burst of bravery—or perhaps all three, depending on the chaotic mixture that made it into the pot.
“Lovely,” she muttered, pulling on a pair of rubber gloves. “Just what I needed for my day.”
She decided to call the accidental concoction “Nibbles’ Mischief Brew” and figured she would just find out what happened. She continued to make her dark chocolate espresso.
She finished making her drink, a rich, dark liquid topped with cinnamon and honey foam.
She took the first long sip, the bitter espresso and sweet honey hitting her tongue.
As she went about cleaning the spilled syrup off the kitchen surfaces, a strange lightness took hold.
Her hips started to sway, and an old, forgotten folk song about a mischievous moon and a runaway star spilled from her lips.
She was singing and happy for the mundane distraction of cleaning up her Grifflet’s chaos.