5. Sundays with Bramble
Sundays with Bramble
FERN APPLETON
Alazy Sunday afternoon tending to her garden and enjoying the quiet of her home always made Fern feel prepared for the week ahead.
She opened the bookstore for a few hours in the morning on weekends, allowing patrons to shop if needed, but everyone in town who frequented her shop knew that weekends were short days.
Bramble purred in the window seat beside her, soaking up the warm sunlight streaming in through the window.
Fern had settled in with a soft fleece blanket, her latest romantic comedy, and a steaming cup of cinnamon apple chai in a cup shaped like a red apple on the end table nearby.
The purple blanket and pillows and ruffled curtains brought her joy.
Though the house had been lovely the way her parents had decorated it while she was growing up, Fern found herself in need of change during that first year without them. She and Bramble had gone shopping, deciding to overhaul the space to make it completely hers.
Soft lavender walls and dozens of hanging plants made the space feel like a fairy garden. The sliding glass door to the backyard sat open, allowing in the cool autumn breeze. Her garden and little glass greenhouse stood proudly in the yard, bursting with color.
Next weekend, she would need to plant the fall blooms that would decorate Petals & Pages during the season and the Pumpkin Festival.
This year, Fern had chosen some gorgeous flowers that she couldn’t wait to see bloom.
A soft orange lantana, striking orange ballerina tulips, and calendula were all new to her garden—Fern had been wanting to try her hand at them.
“The orange king zinnias never disappoint,” Bramble announced into the silence of their little home. “But I think the fire glow bronze chrysanthemums remain my absolute favorite this time of year.”
“Really?” Fern asked, looking up from her book.
“Yes. Carnations and marigolds are so pedestrian. Black-eyed-Susans are so easy even mortals can grow them without much effort,” replied the cat.
She nodded. “Should we go even more exotic next year? I’ve had my eye on a Chinese lantern dahlia that looks spectacular.”
“How about some Mandarin sunset roses?” asked Bramble, his eyes bright. “We haven’t had roses in fall before. That would really pop against the Mexican sunflowers and carnations.”
“Really? I’m not sure how temperamental those are. I was considering some flowering maple trees for a change of pace,” Fern informed her familiar.
The cat nodded. “That would be nice. We could bring entire small trees into the bookstore, let them really breathe some fresh air into the shop as fall takes root.”
“Next year, silly cat,” she laughed. “It’s too short notice to get such rare plants for next week.”
Bramble pouted dramatically. “You could pull it off if you really wanted to. Your plant magic is unparalleled.”
“Why, thank you! I’m sticking to the plan, though,” Fern patted him on his fluffy head. “Three new flowers this year, and then we’ll adjust the following fall with new blossoms if these do well.”
“Fine,” sighed the tuxedo cat, rolling his light green eyes.
This argument happened every year: her familiar wanted to try every pretty new flower he heard of, and Fern had to remind him that each would take time and research to properly care for and thrive.
Every year, Bramble did his best to convince her that her magic alone would be enough to cause any flowers they like to flourish.
Fern wondered which of the fall blooms Sparrow Blackburne would like best. Would she prefer the classics, like carnations?
Or the exotic flowers like the orange king zinnias?
She blinked in surprise. Where on earth did that thought come from?
Those piercing, deep blue eyes appeared in her mind unbidden and she sucked in a breath.
“What’s on your mind?” asked Bramble with a sly smile.
“N-nothing!” she shouted. “I’m just thinking about how lovely the flowers will be in the bookstore.”
Her familiar raised one fluffy eyebrow in doubt. “Uh-huh. If you say so, witchling.”
“Go back to your sun-nap, Mr. Sarcastic,” Fern mumbled, turning back to her book.
For the rest of the evening, the two sat in companionable silence. Every weekend, these quiet Sundays with Bramble were her reset that prepared her to take on the new week. The sun had nearly set when Fern’s stomach rumbled, and she stretched languidly before padding lightly into the kitchen.
Small pots with herbs of all sorts and winding vines covered most of the space, giving it a delicious fresh scent. She pulled a block of cheddar cheese, a loaf of homemade bread, and a stick of butter from the fridge with a smile.
“Grilled cheese and tomato soup for dinner?” She glanced toward the cat.
“Yes, please,” Bramble purred, rubbing against her leg affectionately. “Don’t forget my tuna.”
Fern cut four slices of bread and put a small soup pot on the stove, turning to her little pantry to grab the pre-made tomato soup that they both loved. It heated slowly on the grill as she brought a cast-iron pan to temperature and buttered the bread.
Fifteen minutes later, they sat down at the dinner table with their warm, gooey meal.
While she knew that Bramble shouldn’t eat too much human food, he had pestered her endlessly in the first few months after her parents had left.
Fern had given him whatever he’d asked for as a child, and he insisted they go back to that.
A little saucer of soup and half a grilled cheese, cut into small pieces, sat on a small plate in front of her fluffy companion.
A larger dish with canned tuna sat beside it on the round wooden table, the blue fish pattern giving away that it was Bramble’s designated tuna dish.
She chuckled at the sight, the way his eyes grew wide with happiness at the spread.
“Well, then,” Fern announced, picking up one triangle of grilled cheese. “Eat up, Bramble.”
As she dipped her sandwich in the creamy orange soup, she found herself wondering again if Sparrow Blackburne enjoyed this hearty fall staple.
Surely no one disliked grilled cheese and tomato soup, she figured.
But would Ms. Blackburne like cheddar or Havarti for her sandwiches?
Fern found she really wanted to know the answer.
She forgot to savor each cheesy bite as thoughts swirled around her mind. Blue eyes, rimmed in thick black eyeliner. Short-cropped ink- black hair with sharp edges. That long, form-fitting black leather jacket Sparrow had been wearing the other day. It looked ridiculously attractive on her.
The semi-sheer black tights with the pleated miniskirt had looked pretty good on her, too.
Fern could see the other witch in her mind’s eye, like a black-and-white photograph except for her cherry red lips.
White shirt, black bow, black skirt, black tights, that inky black hair chopped into a short, sharp bob.
The way it showed off her sharp cheekbones.
She had to be the loveliest witch that Fern had ever seen. Having grown up in a town of witches, that really was saying something. Those deep, soulful eyes had drawn her in as surely as the pull of the moon when it was full.
How can I see her again? Fern wondered. Her eyes fluttered closed as she imagined walking hand-in-hand down Main Street with the gorgeous Sparrow Blackburne. Past the orange trees dancing in the wind and right on by the coffee shop, maybe stopping at the town gazebo in the park.
Would Sparrow make the first move? Would she be assertive and confident or more reserved? Fern truly didn’t care either way, she simply wanted to know. Wanted the chance to find out what the witch’s face looked like after a desperate kiss, what she might say if Fern made the first move.
This was dangerous territory, though. Fern knew better than to fantasize about someone so totally out of her league. Older, cooler, completely put together. What could Sparrow possibly find attractive about Fern? She hadn’t impressed any of her previous dates into going steady.
Why should this be any different? She didn’t even have a date with Sparrow—she was merely daydreaming. Her attraction to the pretty dream witch would likely be nothing but a distraction, a dandelion petal on the wind, ethereal and effervescent.
Fern shook her head, realizing she had finished her dinner and remained staring at the wall for long enough to worry Bramble.
“Everything all right, little witchling of mine?” asked her familiar in a soft purr.
“Fine! I’m fine. Everything’s fine,” she hurried to reassure him, rubbing the top of his head.
Dubious, Bramble inclined his head toward the bedroom. “Shall we?”
“Yes, let’s go to bed. Another early start tomorrow.” Fern nodded. “I’ll try to get some of the summer decor down before the bookstore opens, and I’ll probably need to stay late as well.”
“I’ll help with whatever I can,” said the cat kindly.
“I know. You’re the best, Bramble,” she whispered as she crawled into bed.
Her fluffy familiar settled on top of the blankets right beside her, snuggling into the space below her ribs. Like this, Fern could wrap her arm around him, holding him close while they slept. Sleep came easily that night, drifting away into dreamland almost effortlessly.
In her dreams, Fern danced in front of the gazebo at the town square, wearing a pretty yellow dress with a cozy knitted sweater.
The glow of the twinkling lights strung around the gazebo and across the park sparkled in the low light of the setting sun.
The Pumpkin Festival sprawled all around her, hay bales and home-made caramels filling the air with their scent.
As she spun and spun, Fern tried to catch a glimpse of her dance partner. Someone tall and dark, in a wool coat and gray slacks, twirled her too fast to get a good look at them. Her eyes flickered closed against the motion and the chill in the wind, and she finally gave in.
This time, she waited until the music slowed, coming to the end of the song. Her hazel eyes popped open just as the wind rustled the trees behind them, sending a shower of orange leaves through the air as she found herself staring into those enchanting blue eyes.
Sparrow Blackburne, she realized with a pang. Holding her. Dancing with her. In town Square.