Chapter 7 Jack
Jack
The morning after I discover that witches exist, my aggravating neighbor is one, and my grandfather is a ghost who is haunting her until he breaks her long-standing curse, my mind has still not been able to wrap around the concept.
After spending my entire adult life believing magic is an exciting aspect of fiction, being told that isn’t the case has been a difficult thing to process.
Those moments my grandfather mentioned are all things I have kept locked in my mind for some time, forgotten memories that are still shrouded in the filter of childhood wonder.
My older mind, however, was able to find easy explanations for those moments, though I’m learning that these common-sense explanations are anything but.
But more importantly, these are memories I haven’t shared with anyone, especially the one from the mall.
There’s no way Rosemary could learn of them much less find ways to exploit them in order to get her way.
So I’m forced to circle back into the illogical, logical answer of magic is real and has been living right under my nose—or more accurately now, across the street—my whole life.
But still, despite the lingering confusion and very much present exhaustion, I can’t help but feel excited, knowing that in the next six weeks, I’ll get the opportunity to learn about this world I’ve marveled over for my entire life.
There was no way I could give up that once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and simply allow Rosemary to fulfill that quest on her own.
As if summoned by the thought of her alone, my neighbor knocks on my door bright and early, before the sun is fully up, not even seven yet.
With a sigh, I shift my gaze back to the door to see her standing there with a wide smile, waving at me, then using her chin to gesture to the lock of the door.
It’s far too early to deal with her, but considering I have to play nice for at least the next six weeks, I don’t see the point in ignoring her, so I sigh and make my way over to unlock and open the door.
I’ve spent the last three years since I’ve had a shop across from Rosie Mayfield painstakingly avoiding her and the chaos that seems to follow her everywhere she goes, and now I’m going to have to work closely with her for six weeks.
And she’s outside my shop, hands full, before I’m even fully awake.
With a groan, I move across the room to the front door, taking in a deep breath before unlocking the door and holding it open. She comes barreling in, as chaotic as ever, with three bags over her shoulders and a coffee tray with four drinks in it.
“Good morning, Jack,” she says with a beaming smile over her shoulder. I close the door behind her.
“Good morning, Rosemary,” I say begrudgingly, watching as she makes herself at home, lumbering through my store and placing the coffees on the cash wrap before moving through the bags at her shoulders and removing boxes of treats from her sister’s bakery.
Violet Mayfield owns Sugar and Spice, and, despite my one-sided feud with the sisters, I find myself frequenting the bakery often, though I always seem to miss the best pastries they have to offer.
The last time I went there during peak hours, Mrs. Crawford, a nearly 80-year-old widow, tried to convince me to take her out on a date since a young man like me shouldn’t be alone on a Friday night.
I managed to mumble out an apology and an excuse, but in an effort to avoid both small talk with overly friendly neighbors and awkward propositions, I’ve taken to visiting in the off-hours.
“Yeah, that’s gotta stop,” she says, sending a serious glare in my direction. “Call me Rosie or Rose, or else it’s Jack Attack every single time.” I groan at the threat, but smile all the same. It’s good to know that if I want to get under her skin, I can just use her full name.
“So, Rosie, you didn’t want to use your magic or whatever to open my door this morning?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes. “I don’t use my magic for bad, Jack. I am a law-abiding citizen of Heartwood Hollow.” I lift an eyebrow at her, and she rolls her eyes. “Last night was an extenuating circumstance. I didn’t realize what a light sleeper you are; it’s really not my fault.”
“The fact that you’re somehow spinning my not sleeping heavily enough to avoid catching you breaking into my shop to be a bad thing is so very on brand for you.
” She shrugs like it doesn’t matter before continuing to unpack her bags.
There’s more food before us than two people could ever fathom to eat, but considering it’s all from her sister’s bakery, I can’t complain in the least. “What’s with the treats?
” I reach for one of the cinnamon rolls I love most of all but always seem to miss out on and lift it toward my mouth without even bothering to ask for permission.
“Oh, this?” She gestures toward all the food laid out before us, and the coffee carrier, now missing one drink, which is lifted to her lips. “They’re poisoned. I’m trying to off you so I can steal the flask from you without having to deal with your shit.”
“What?” I ask, eyes wide, hand frozen. She really is out of her damned mind. A beat passes before she lets out a loud laugh.
“My god, lighten up, Jack.” She shakes her head, clearly entertained by my nerves. “They aren’t poisoned. That would be insane.”
“You can’t tell me you were trying to give me poisoned baked goods from your sister’s bakery the morning after I find out you’re a witch who summoned my dead grandfather.” She gives me a roll of her eyes and waves a hand at me like I’m being dramatic.
“They aren’t poisoned. It was a play on words,” she says with another roll of her eyes.
“Oh, yes, the old saying, I brought you poisoned treats.” She lets out a groan, then moves around me to continue unpacking things, removing the three remaining drinks from the carrier and taking a sip out of hers.
Each cup has her sister’s handwriting in purple Sharpie on top, something I notice because it’s probably my most frequented place in Heartwood Hollow.
Her sister’s bakery is fucking good.
I stare at the cinnamon roll in my hand longingly but also skeptically.
With another sigh, that melodic voice leaves her lips.
“I made a joke, it wasn’t funny, identify what’s poison quicker than a bunny.
” I don’t have time to contemplate her words before pink sparkles leave her fingers, the threads twinkling along the air over the pastries and making my heart beat faster.
It’s like a trail of pink sparklers that move quickly, hovering over the pastries for a long moment before vanishing, exploding like fireworks.
I’m still staring at it, wondering if that’s what her magic looks like or if it’s just the spell in question, when she speaks again.
“See? My magic couldn’t find anything nefarious.
I promise I’m trying to be nice. I started this whole thing off wrong, probably back when we first met forever ago.
I’m trying to… fix it. Six weeks of working together is a long time if you hate me through the whole thing.
” I shift my gaze from the pastries to her face, taking her in and trying to read whatever might be hidden there but coming up short.
“I’m determined to make you like me, Jack Haggerty.
Call it a side mission, like in one of your games. ”
“Quest,” I say under my breath before taking a bite of the cinnamon roll and trying not to groan. Flaky and buttery, spiced and sweet, with a thick layer of cream cheese frosting on top. There’s no wonder it’s the item that typically sells out first.
“What?”
“It would be a side quest. The games I play, we go on quests.” She nods her head like that makes total sense, like she’s cataloging this new knowledge for future use.
One of the most confusing and irritating things about Rosie is that I can never tell if she’s fucking with me.
Most people hear that and let out a laugh, calling me a nerd, but her nod looks almost sincere. I’m unsure how to feel about it.
“Oh, of course. Well, my side quest is going to be to win you over once and for all.”
“You’re going to win me over?” She nods. “Good luck with that.” That’s when she does something strange.
She smiles. As if she is thoroughly entertained by me, by this. By the challenge.
“Yes. Now, which coffee do you like? I grabbed a few, one of Vi’s specials, a caramel macchiato, and a plain coffee with a bag of milks and sugars for you to fix it yourself if that’s what you like.” She lifts a small white bag she hasn’t unpacked. I stare, not understanding.
“Why?”
She sighs like she’s tired of explaining, then does just that. “So I can know your order, of course. We didn’t exchange numbers, so I couldn’t text you to ask.”
“Why not ask your sister? I go there enough, she would probably know.”
“There’s no fun in that. I want to be your friend by learning about you, not by using a cheat code from my sister.
” I don’t bother to tell her that using her own sister, who owns the place I frequent regularly, wouldn’t be cheating; instead, I shrug and grab the one with S’mores Latte written on top. She eyes me skeptically.
“I would have taken you as a black coffee kind of guy.”
I shrug. “I was until I started going to Sugar and Spice. Once I grabbed the wrong drink when I was picking up, and now I always go for the special.” She nods after a moment, before reaching for a muffin.
She digs through another bag, grabbing a knife and butter, then slathers the inside of the muffin with butter and places it on a plate she also brought.
It seems she came fully prepared. Then she shifts, putting her back to the counter and hopping up on it.
I lean against it, just two feet from her, staring at the cinnamon roll I picked out while also eyeing the chocolate chip muffin. I have to admit I’m a bit… confused.