7. Hex Girls
Courtney
The squeaks of the little bat in my attic kept me awake most of the night. I had finally succumbed to exhaustion in the early hours of the morning, but thanks to Olive, I’m again awake before 8 a.m..
I’ve grown used to the house’s built-in alarm clock and have been using my extra morning hours to get my runs in. Something about having a pet keeps me on a routine, though I could argue that I’m Olive’s pet based on the way she has me trained.
After delivering Olive a plate of sliced figs from my fruit bowl, I slip into a matching workout set and tie my brown locks into a tight runner’s bun.
A week has passed since the five of us went apple picking, and I’ve spent almost the entirety of that time thinking about my fleeting moment with Finn, his firm body pressed against my own. Each time I recall the memory, liquid heat licks up my insides, setting gears into motion that I’m certainly not allowing myself to act on.
I keep hoping to bump into him at some small corner of this archaic town, at the grocery store, or maybe Agnes’ bakery. I plan to apologize for my behavior but he’s nowhere to be found. It seems as if the tall, dark mayor has simply disappeared into the crisp New England air.
I lock up my rental and head South, setting a calm pace to ease into my natural rhythm. I jog down the rows of residential streets, familiarizing myself with the quaint houses as I go until I hit the edge of an overgrown field. It isn’t dissimilar to the one we encountered apple picking but far more wild and yellow. I recognize it as an indication of Havenwood’s border and prepare to double back, but that’s when it catches my eye. An old, colonial-style house sitting on the fringe of the pasture, backdropped by the pitch pines trees of the forest just beyond it.
I take a hesitant step towards the antiquated property, squinting my eyes for a better look at its dust-fogged windows. As my foot flattens the dry grass below, a resounding caw from behind me causes my anxiety to spike and my flight or fight to kick in, sending me into a crouched position. Whipping around to face the offensive sound, I spot the same obnoxious crow from a week ago, sitting in the mangled branches of the tree closest to me. Its beady eyes stare me down, daring me to disobey his warning call. A shiver courses up my spine as I make eye contact with the bird’s endless black eyes.
“You little shit,” I hiss under my breath, sick of the little terror.
“You’re an asshole, you know that?” I call up to the bird in vain. My insult doesn’t deter him in the slightest as he continues his surveillance of me. The ominous feeling that accompanies the creepy crow is enough to shake my interest in the mysterious house and send me back jogging toward town, desperate to have its intense gaze off of me.
I head deep into the center of the town, wanting to be as far from the crow and the house as possible. I pass the same shops and boutiques as I did on all my jogs, but this time, something is new. A storefront that has sat empty since my arrival now has a “RENT ME” poster plastered across its gorgeous bay window.
The window has been one of the highlights of all my morning runs; its design reminds me of one of my favorite bookstores I’d visited in northern California that sported a similar one. I slow my pace to look at the stores that line either side of the empty shop, noticing for the first time that Havenwood doesn’t have a bookstore. I’ve been so caught up trying to track down Finn that I hadn’t taken the time to scope one out.
A brazen thought crosses my mind, what if I open a bookshop in this space? Logistically, it would work; this is the ideal spot for a shop due to its proximity to the park and town square.
I pick up my pace once again, the idea still prominent in the back of my mind as I debate the rationality of opening a business in a dying town—and with my dwindling savings—but it excites me nonetheless.
I settle on Mythic Brew as the final destination of my jog, wanting to end a weird run with a familiar face. Instinctively, I break right at the end of the street to head in the direction of the coffee shop. As I lean to take the blind corner, a pair of women round the building at the worst possible time. With no time to react, I slam right into them.
“Shit,” I mutter as I hold my head. It feels like I must’ve collided with one of their elbows with how hard it’s pounding.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know anyone was-.”
“Watch it!” One of the human obstacles hisses. To my displeasure, the pair I’ve collided with are the two goth women I saw in the park yesterday. Based on their less-than-excited faces yesterday and my stunt today, it’s safe to say they both hate my guts by now.
I ramble off another quick apology before resuming my pace and getting the hell out of there before they drink my blood or something. I peek over my shoulder as I sprint away, and sure enough, two pale faces are staring daggers at me. What is their problem? I silently wonder to myself. Everyone I’ve encountered in Havenwood seems more than delighted with my presence but these two act like I’m here to ruin their lives personally.
Thankfully I make it to the drowsy coffee shop without ruffling the feathers of any more locals. I push open the creaky front door and am immediately greeted by the smell of delicious, fresh espresso and the bell chime, alerting Elsie to my presence.
“Hi Courtney,” Elsie calls over her shoulder as she pulls perfect golden brown shots. I offer a wave as I make my way to the counter, leaning against it to give my tired legs a break.
“Caramel latte with oat milk?” Elsie doesn’t bother to face me as she recites my order from memory. I’d stopped by several times over the last week and hadn’t strayed far from my original order but I decide to get something different today, inspired by the impending fall season.
“Actually, I’ll take a hot, dirty chai latte with oat milk, please.”
Elsie grins, excitedly retrieving a golden bag from the cupboard above her.
“You always order such fun drinks. It never fails to spice up my day.” I smile back at her, her presence brightening my mood like I knew it would.
“Hey, do you know two women who dress in dark colors and really light foundation? Lots of piercings?”
“I see you’ve had the misfortune of meeting Soul and Starr already.” Elsie huffs as she dusts cinnamon over the top of my chai.
I raise an eyebrow. “It sounds like I’m not the only person they are unpleasant to?”
“They’re brats,” Elsie admits, sliding my drink across the counter where I’m still resting.
“They were always full of themselves but then they started to get some notoriety outside of Havenwood and it only fueled their egos.”
“How do you mean?” I sip the perfectly brewed chai, the taste of autumn dancing across my taste buds. Elsie’s drink-making game is truly magical.
“They’re a band,” she clarifies. “Soul plays electric guitar, and Starr sings. They started out super local and then gained some fame opening at shows. Now almost anyone in the state knows ‘em. Not to say everyone likes them, especially not conservative mothers. Or me.” We share a laugh as she cleans the oat milk from her steam wand.
“They’ve been touring Massachusetts for the last six months. They’re only back in Havenwood because they’re putting on a hometown show on Halloween night. Which, unfortunately for you, means you’re visiting at the same time they are.”
“Lucky me,” I smirk over the ceramic mug at the barista.
“I may or may not have plowed into them when I was jogging here.” Elsie covers her mouth as a small giggle escapes her.
“You are going to make them hate you! Especially with Finn being into you.”
She quirks an accusatory eyebrow and I feel my face numb at the mention of the mayor. The warmth of my fingers laced around my mug seems to spread throughout me as I drop my eyes to avoid Elsie’s. Am I blushing?
“He isn’t into me,” I laugh dismissively, fumbling with the white mug.
“Why, um, why would Soul and Starr care if he was, though?” I pull my coffee to my lips, taking a prolonged sip to hide my expression. Elsie looks around the empty coffee shop before leaning in and whispering.
“Up until recently, Starr and the mayor were a thing.” The name now rings a bell, as I recall Elsie mentioning Starr and Finn’s relationship the first time I met the mayor.
“A thing?” I question, an unsolicited pang of jealousy corkscrewing through me.
She nods, taking a sip of her coffee.
“I don’t know a whole lot, only what Milo tells me, but he’s totally trying to break things off with her. He insists it’s mutual because he’s too nice. Rumor has it that’s why she insisted on having their Halloween show here; Starr knows how badly Finn wants to bring money into Havenwood, and she thinks if she can do that, then maybe..” Elsie shrugs her petite shoulders, sipping again from her mug.
“Then maybe he’ll get back with her?” I follow her prompt, she nods in confirmation. See? Even if you did like him, he already has someone else chasing after him. You do not want to get in the middle of that. The little voice in my head heeds. I ignore it as I refuse to admit to myself that I even like him in the first place.
“There’s a shop for rent downtown with a big bay window. Any idea what it used to be?” I change the subject, trying to remind myself how insufferable men are. No matter how tall, dark, handsome, or mayoral they are… but damn, I do like a man with a title.
“Oh yeah,” the barista recalls the space, putting our now empty mugs into a sudsy sink.
“That was a flower shop. It didn’t stay very long and didn’t do too well. I wonder if anything will ever fill that space again with how things are looking here.”
“You never know. What time are you off?”
“Closing time, 4 p.m., what’s up?”
“Want to have dinner tonight at my place? My treat.”
Her face lights up with excitement as we work out the details.
* * *
Elsie and I sit on the cherry hardwood floor of my living room, giggling over take-out containers full of the worst Chinese food I’ve ever had. I didn’t even consider the fact that I have no furniture before inviting a guest over to my new house, but luckily, Elsie just seemed happy to be here. After we’d shared the special gift Micah had given me, she seemed extra happy to be here.
“Favorite color?” I ask, shoveling another clump of overcooked sweet and sour chicken into my mouth. Elsie and I were taking turns asking each other questions to get to know each other better. So far, I learned that Elsie lives with her father and grandmother, who owns Mystic Brew, and that she hopes to inherit the place one day. I also learned that she is twenty-two and loves cats, women’s basketball, and crocheting.
Elsie’s brown eyes lift to the ceiling as she considers the question.
“Blue, like navy blue. Basic but true. What about you?”
“Mmm,” I contemplate momentarily, enjoying the tingling sensation in my cheeks brought on by our smoking session.
“Maroon.” I decide with finality.
“Good answer,” Elsie nods, scooping a spoon of rice into her mouth. She tucks a strand of ginger hair behind her ear as she begins to speak, not bothering to finish her bite before beginning.
“Okay, what do you hate about Los Angeles?”
I shared basic information with her throughout our silly little meal. The fact that I’m twenty-eight, I’m a California native on break from big city living, as well as my first dog’s name, but this question feels heavier. Not because of the question itself but because of my answer. I suck in my bottom lip, confessing the answer to myself before her.
“I hate the way people are there. They are insincere, image-obsessed, disingenuous liars, especially the men.” I huff out a dry laugh, my attempt at lightening my answer as I stare into the fried rice.
“My final decision to take a break from the L.A. scene was getting dumped by my boyfriend. He broke up with me when he decided I wasn’t good enough for his public image. He never cared about me. I see that now, but it still hurts.”
While Carter and I weren’t officially boyfriend and girlfriend, we were definitely dating, and I had considered ourselves to be exclusive; regardless, the lack of titles didn’t relieve me of any pain. However, I must admit that the past few weeks in Havenwood have helped dull some of the aches. Hell, the attractive mayor of Havenwood has put Carter’s memory on the back burner—the far back burner.
Before I can register what’s happening, a pair of freckled arms are wrapped around me.
“Woah,” I verbalize, steadying myself so I don’t tip over. Elsie is hugging me tightly and genuinely, even rubbing my back as she does so—a gesture that feels way more soothing than I thought it could.
“I’m sorry, Courtney.” She whispers, her thin arms still securely laced around me. I smile a little despite myself and return the embrace. Living on the West Coast, personal space was a big deal; you don’t even dare to bump arms on the Metro, but Elsie seems at ease with holding me, despite hardly knowing me. An olive branch of trust that Los Angelenos don’t offer, ever. I give her one more squeeze before she releases me.
“Do you ever hate Havenwood?” I return the question to her, pushing the attention off my breakup. Elsie shrugs her shoulders, pushing her glasses further up her nose.
“I’m happy here. I wish there were more people my age, but other than that, I have no qualms. As long as I can inherit the coffee house, I’ll stay here forever and raise my kids here.”
“You say that like you might not inherit it, aren’t you your grandma’s only grandchild?” I question, closing up the leftover food containers.
“Grandmother says I can only inherit it if I’m a true barista, whatever that means. I’m passionate about coffee but I have to convince her of that somehow. If not, I’ll have to split the business with my dad, who doesn’t care about the art of coffee at all, only profits.”
“If she watched you work a single shift, she could see that you are a true barista.” I express in confusion. Anyone could see from a mile away that Elsie loves coffee and her little coffee shop; her grandma must be blind or simply idiotic, respectfully.
Elsie flashes me an appreciative smile.
“She knows it. It has to do with family politics; she doesn’t like who my mother is, and I can’t change that, so she picks on me any opportunity she gets. I’ll only know if she truly plans on passing me the shop when her final will and testaments are read.”
Before I can think of a response, my doorbell rings. It takes me a moment to process the sound, partially because of my high and partially because it doesn’t sound like the stereotypical ding-dong a doorbell makes but instead sounds like a church bell chiming. I crease my eyebrows, share a curious look with Elsie, and rise to my feet to see who could be at my door.
I open the heavy door to find my porch devoid of anyone. Instead, a small basket sits patiently on the stoop. I pick it up, inspecting the contents trapped behind the cellophane. Once I deem it safe, I bring it inside, resuming my seat on the living room floor across from Elsie.
“A gift basket, how exciting!” Her face lights up as she claps her hands together. “Who’s it from?” She points to a card nestled snugly outside the plastic.
I free it from the card from its resting spot, reading the note out loud.
“Apologies for the delay. Consider this your official welcome to Havenwood. We hope you stay forever. Finn Abernathy”