Seth
Wake up, go for a run, shower, and go to work. It’s the same routine, and on a day like today, blow-drying my hair is not optional—one hazard of February in Maine. Spring is right around the corner, but it’s still freezing out.
“Hey, man.” Antoni, a local werewolf, greets me outside the café, his gloved hands linked with his new partner, Matt. It’s nice to see that Antoni’s finally dating again after his messy divorce. “I thought I’d see you in there.”
“Not today.” I grin. “I got to sleep in, for once.”
“Good for you.” Matt lifts his coffee. “We’ll see you next time.”
“I hope so. Have a good one!”
Most people around Starbrook are regular customers; that’s the upside to living in a small town…
and to working at this café for so long.
It started as a high school job, a way to save up for a car, and I never saw myself settling into it full-time.
But now that I have more responsibility—inventory, employee training, supply runs—I can see it becoming permanent.
But there’s still something missing. I can’t put my finger on what it is.
At barely six feet tall, I was never going to go pro in basketball, and I’m happy to keep it as a hobby.
Despite my mom’s urging, I didn’t want to go to college.
But some days, when work is slow and Starbrook is sleepy, restlessness sneaks back up on me.
It happens every time I think I've finally pushed the feeling away.
Always there. That desire for something more.
Farrah is opening today, making up for the times when I covered her ass, and I slide in right around ten.
She’s already buzzing, chatting with the customers and mixing up drinks.
Back in high school, I saw Farrah as another spoiled rich girl, but I know better now.
She’s kind, artistic, and a good worker.
I always give her good reviews when I’m chatting with our boss.
Like Aspen Hawthorne, Farrah is a love witch, but as far as I know, she isn’t as… well, as talented. She’s around Laurel’s age, which means she’s still learning her craft.
“Morning.” I slide past her to make my first drink of the day—one for me, that will probably go cold by the time I can stop and enjoy it.
“Oh, um… good morning.” She flashes me a bright smile.
“Looks like it’s a slow one today.”
It’s easy to tell by the cold brew levels. Each bottle is still nice and full. Even though it’s winter, there are iced drink loyalists—people like me. I pour myself a cold brew with a little caramel and a lot of oat milk.
“Sort of,” she says. “I’ve had more food orders than drink orders. The breakfast burritos have been going crazy today, but I saved your favorite—the one with the sausage.”
“Really?” I pop the cover on my drink and stick a straw in the hole. “Thanks. That was thoughtful.”
She tucks a piece of stray, dirty blonde hair behind her ear. “It’s nothing. Seriously. It’s not like I made the burritos, but… yeah. I hope you like it.”
“Oh, c’mon. You know I will.”
Her emerald eyes roam over me as I step forward to take care of the next customer, and we work silently for several minutes. She makes drinks, and I pass them out. It’s a dance we’re all too used to.
She doesn’t speak again until we hit another lull, which usually happens around this time of day. “What have you been doing today?”
“Oh, you know me. Working out. Hanging out. Stopped by the greenhouse, but Donnie wasn’t there, so… nothing major.”
“Cool.” She twists her hair around her finger. Not very sanitary when she’s handling food and drinks.
I nod my head at the sink. “You should probably wash your hands—”
At the same time, she says, “Well, what are you getting into this weekend?”
Her face, light beige and sun-kissed even in the winter, turns bright red, and she scrambles away, scrubbing her hands in the sink in the back. “I was wondering if you wanted to… I mean, I’m probably going out of town with some friends.”
“Cool.” I empty the tip jar into a cup with Farrah’s name on it and set it back down. “That sounds like a lot of fun.”
She looks up. “So… you’re coming?”
Oh.
Hope flashes in her eyes, and in another circumstance, I would probably take her up on the offer.
Farrah and I have partied before, and we have friends in common.
We’ve even kissed a few times, which is probably my favorite kind of friend to have.
Laurel would probably tag along, too, if she’s back from her date in Hell with Nerissa.
But my life isn’t going on like usual anymore, and the last thing I want is for my hex to ruin Farrah’s weekend with her friends.
“Sorry. I have a lot to catch up on this weekend. Personal stuff.”
“Right.” She turns away. “Personal. I get it.”
And though I would usually expect her to come in with a couple of follow-up questions, she doesn’t.