Chapter 5 Pansy #2
She barely made it into Blossom’s store, her entrance marked as much by the thunderous slam of the door as the shop bell’s delicate chime, before the last frayed vestiges of her self-control finally snapped. “I’ve been in town barely five minutes and I already want to scream!”
Blossom, who’d been in the process of removing thorns from a cluster of roses, looked up from her work, hands stilling mid-snip. “Should I get the cookies and tea ready?” she asked, her expression creasing sympathetically.
“Councilor Millwood accosted me in the village square.”
Blossom immediately set the roses down and, with an emphatic nod, said, “Cookies and tea it is.”
Whoever had ordered the bouquet, it seemed, would have to wait.
Blossom’s Blossoms had far more pressing matters to attend to this morning, the kind that necessitated flipping the shop sign back to Closed less than an hour after opening.
The door’s lock, however, remained untouched.
No self-respecting Haverow halfling would do something so crass as to ignore a clearly posted sign.
The store now guarded against any unwanted interruptions, Blossom ushered Pansy upstairs to the flat she kept, in somewhat un-halfling fashion, above her shop.
“It’s more convenient that way,” she’d said when questioned about the decision.
And, somehow, that had been enough. The same people who couldn’t bring themselves to extract their noses from Pansy’s own business for more than one second had simply nodded along and let the matter drop.
At the time, it had enraged Pansy. Now, it frustrated her just as much, the memory stoking already-smoldering coals into new gouts of flame as she not-quite-stomped after Blossom, each footfall just heavy enough to send the frames filled with pressed flowers rattling against the plaster. In what way was any of this fair?
Of course, their situations weren’t the same; not precisely.
While Pansy had, up until very recently, lived with her parents, Blossom’s parents had moved to Halfend a little over five years ago.
Instead of joining them, she’d elected to remain in Haverow, a choice she’d been commended for.
Not just because of the long-standing rivalry that existed between the two villages, which was serious enough that in any human town it would’ve surely culminated in a murder by now, but also because Haverow would’ve otherwise been left without a florist. Her decision had single-handedly kept the then-named Brimshine’s Blooms open.
So, what was a bit of oddness in the face of that?
But still. Still. The thought pulsed at the forefront of Pansy’s mind, as gentle as the crash of a sledgehammer. Again, she found herself overcome with the urge to scream. It clawed up her throat, bit by bit, until her mouth was full of copper and salt.
“Why can’t they just leave me alone?” Pansy asked, the words rushing out of her in one fell swoop; not a scream, but something equally charged with feeling.
“I know, I know,” Blossom said gently, patting her on the shoulder. “Now, go sit while I put the kettle on and dig out those cookies.”
Pansy did as instructed, flopping down into one of two cushioned chairs arranged on either side of Blossom’s kitchen table.
Her seat proved less comfortable than expected due to the honeycombed ball she found lodged beneath the embroidered cushion.
One of Belladonna’s toys, judging from the bell lodged at its center.
Blossom really did spoil that cat rotten…
“She tried to set me up with her nephew in Oakton, you know,” Pansy said, tossing the ball onto the floor, where it landed with a too-cheery jingle.
“Councilor Millwood?” Blossom asked.
Pansy nodded.
“Oh. Well, is he handsome? The nephew, I mean.”
Pansy shot her a wretched look – not that Blossom could see it.
She was too busy clattering about the kitchen, her long, cornsilk-yellow braid swinging behind her as she moved from one cabinet to the next, searching for the box of cookies she’d stashed among a veritable avalanche of herbs.
Doubtless, none of them were meant for cooking: elixirs and tinctures, more like. Blossom’s other trade of choice.
“She wanted to make sure that I ‘give my parents grandchildren before they fall into their graves’,” Pansy said, her lips twisting in a scowl.
That got Blossom’s attention. She looked over her shoulder, blue eyes gone wide with shock. “Councilor Millwood said that? Those words exactly?”
“Well, maybe not exactly,” Pansy said after a beat, ducking her head slightly.
“But the effect was the same, I assure you. To think, I finally got my own mother to drop the subject of my love life only for Councilor Millwood to take up the mantle in her stead! And she’s also convinced that I’m going to sabotage Haverow’s chances with the Festival Committee.
Because of what happened last year with the fireworks. ”
Blossom’s brow furrowed. “With your grandmother, you mean?” At Pansy’s nod, the perfect bow of Blossom’s mouth flattened into a straight-razor line. “That old bitch.”
Relief washed over Pansy, unraveling the tension that had knotted between her shoulder blades. It felt good to hear her feelings validated. Because sometimes even she couldn’t help but doubt herself, picked apart by the most insidious question of all: am I overreacting?
Letting out a breath, Pansy sagged into her seat, one finger coming up to trace the tiny sunflowers that had been painted along the table’s rounded edge.
“I almost couldn’t believe she’d said it, to be quite honest. But then she started going on and on about how my moving into my grandmother’s old cottage was making people start to wonder about me.
” She spat the word, whetted into the same pointed barb the other residents of Haverow had lobbed her way more times than she could count, charging it with the collective weight of their judgment – and dismissal.
“How is the cottage?” Blossom asked, abruptly changing the subject as she pushed a plate of gingersnaps towards Pansy, a two-pronged approach to lifting her best friend’s mood that soon turned into three when she returned a moment later with a steaming cup of tea.
If only the cottage had been the happy topic she’d thought it was, rather than one newly tainted by frustration…
“Ugh. Honestly, it’s a disaster, Blossom.”
“Oh, no. Is it the roof? I know you were worried about that.”
Pansy shook her head. “No. Worse. It’s—” She snapped her mouth shut.
Even squirreled away upstairs, away from the shop proper, she couldn’t shake the feeling of scrutiny that dogged her every step through town.
Call it paranoia, but when it came to the subject of her new goblin housemate, the saying better safe than sorry immediately sprung to mind.
The last thing Pansy needed was for this to become the latest bit of hot village gossip.
That being said, maybe she was being ridiculous.
The shop was closed. No one would be coming in.
And even if someone had taken it upon themselves to stand beneath Blossom’s kitchen window, unless they actually scaled the side of the building, which would be far too much of a spectacle for any well-bred halfling, they wouldn’t hear much of anything.
It all seemed perfectly safe. And yet, when Pansy opened her mouth again, the words came out as barely more than a whisper: “I found a goblin living there.”
“A goblin?” Blossom repeated, far too loud for Pansy’s comfort, her eyes blowing wide. If she’d been taking a sip of her tea, instead of simply cradling it in her palms opposite Pansy, she’d have surely spat it out.
“Shh! Not so loud!” Pansy hissed, fingers tightening along the table’s edge. “And yes, I know I’m being paranoid, but considering the circumstances, can you really blame me?”
“I suppose not,” Blossom conceded after a beat, the reproach unscrewing from her features. “Does that mean the goblin’s still there? In the cottage?”
Pansy nodded, her lower lip catching briefly between her front teeth. “They refused to leave, and I couldn’t really… I mean, I wasn’t going to fight them.”
“Of course not,” Blossom agreed. Very sensible, said her expression, now far more staid.
“So, we made a deal instead,” Pansy explained. “For now, we’ll live in the cottage together, and the first one to leave forfeits their claim.”
Blossom’s eyes widened. “Wait. If you’re here, does that mean you’ve—”
“No! I’m just here to do some shopping. The note I left behind is very clear on that.”
“And you think this goblin will honor that?”
In truth, Pansy had known the answer to this question before Blossom had even opened her mouth. But still, she took a moment to consider – if only for appearances’ sake.
“I wouldn’t have agreed to this deal otherwise. Plus,” Pansy added with a shrug, “it’s not like they can lock me out. I’m the one with the key, after all.”
Blossom’s brow furrowed. “How long has this goblin been living in your grandmother’s cottage exactly? I just don’t understand how they can claim ownership when they don’t even have a key to the place.”
“That’s what I said, but as far as they’re concerned, the key is irrelevant. Although they only moved in recently, their aunt has supposedly lived in the cottage for several decades. Hence why the place is still in such good condition.”
No sooner had the words left Pansy’s mouth than a veil of confusion drew over her brow. She needed Ren out; not to defend their right to the cottage. In fact, as far as she was concerned, Ren had no right.
Blossom took a thoughtful sip of her tea. “You know, I’m abruptly reminded of the time I got up from my seat at the last Wilder Woods concert to get something to drink and returned only to find Danny Oldbough sitting in it.”
“The solicitor?”