4. Bebe
Chapter 4
Bebe
T he moment my key turns in the front door of my apartment, I’m hit with a wave of belonging. Maybe it’s because my stuff was magically arranged just so, or because it’s close to the shop, but this place is mine . There are even fluffy blankets.
Fluffy blankets!
I don’t know exactly where they came from, but I can’t find the power to care.
I wander into the living room, still marveling that this place belongs to me. The exposed brick wall, the comfy cream-colored couch, it’s all mine.
I pull Household Spells out of my bag and place it on the coffee table for future perusal. I plan to spend all night wrapped up with a cup of decaf and this book.
Ring, ring.
Where did I leave my phone...? I pat around my jeans, over the couch cushions, and finally find it tucked underneath the spellbook.
Laura? I didn’t expect her to reach out this quickly after I left.
Oh, wait. I promised her I’d go out tonight. I completely forgot! Crud.
“Hey sis,” I say, flopping onto the couch. Maybe she forgot and I can have a date with my fluffy blanket after all.
“Are you ready?” Laura replies. The sound of her flicking through clothes hangers filters through the phone. Nope, she definitely didn’t forget.
I take a deep breath. “Today was my first day working at Grandma’s shop. I just got home.”
“Hazel, I’m not an idiot. You can’t get out of this. Get sexy, I’ll be there in an hour. Remember, you promised to drive.” And with that, she hangs up.
Get sexy? I don’t even know what that means. I walk over to the closet in my bedroom and stare at my clothes. I’m flying blind, here. Maybe someday I’ll find a spell called Perfecto Outfit Immedius, but for now, I’m on my own.
It seems the best I have is a low-cut v-neck black shirt and tight—can I actually fit these over my ass?—skinny jeans. A little black eyeliner around my green eyes and mascara, and I’m ready to go.
Of course, Laura will say something along the lines of, “Are you seriously going out like that?” I’m used to it by now. She means well, and it’s that fact that saves her.
While I don’t have many reference points outside of old episodes of Charmed , I suspect our sisterly relationship isn’t entirely normal. When Dad died, Mom changed. She distanced herself while also controlling our every movement. Skinned your knee and needed a hug? You’d get a Band-Aid and not even a kiss on the head. Wanted to go to a slumber party? Absolutely not. We were locked in the house and she threw away the key. That meant the emotional stuff fell to me. I was the one who soothed every nightmare, who taught Laura how to use a tampon; I spent my entire childhood trying to preserve hers.
The outcome? Laura gets out into the world more than I do because I cover for her, but she’s also a little immature, if I’m honest.
A few raps on the door interrupt my internal monologue.
“It’s annoying how inherently sexy you are without even trying. Did you even spend more than three minutes on your makeup?” Laura says instead of a greeting as I open the door.
She means well. But she and I both know I look nowhere near as good as she does.
“I think I spent five?” I give her a warm hug. She is wrapped in some too-tight contraption of a dress in a forest-green color. It makes her golden-brown eyes look even brighter, like liquid gold. Although that could be the masterfully crafted eyeshadow.
She scoffs. “Bitch. Let me see the place.”
I move to the side and allow her to step in.
“Ugh! This is all yours?”
“Yep.”
“Such a bitch.” She smiles at me.
I wrap my arm around her waist. “Did you want to go to whatever awful place you’re planning on taking me? Or would you like to gape at my fabulous apartment and call me a bitch a few more times?”
“Is that a trick question? Because I’m enjoying the gaping,” she replies with a smile, perfect white teeth glinting.
“Come on, commence your torture.”
“You have fun every single time we hang out. I don’t know why you put up this charade, but you’re only hurting yourself,” Laura says with a nod as I lock the door.
I silently roll my eyes and follow her down the stairs to the road.
And then I see it. My feet stop on the sidewalk. Oh God, she didn’t .
“Laura . . .”
She turns to face me. “I know you hate my car, but I couldn’t very well borrow Mom’s when both of you refuse to speak to each other. And you won’t get your own, so here we are.”
I glare at the Pepto Bismol-pink Prius sitting at the curb. I’d rather rip each of my fingernails off than be seen in her ridiculous car. The car I forced Mom to get for Laura so she could go to college.
She only gave in on the condition that Laura would live at home, and that I wouldn’t take classes myself. Giving up my college education for my sister? All in a day’s work.
“I hate you a little bit more every time I see this thing.”
A roll of her eyes is her only reply.
I get behind the wheel of the Pink Puke Mobile, resigned to my fate. I am the Queen of the Barbie Car.
I hate it here.
Laura talked me into coming to the ‘hip’ new bar called Matchstix in Lakewood. It’s obnoxiously dark—and worse, filled with people our age. Human people.
“You’re here to spend time with your sister amongst the living. We’ll eat a burger, have a drink or two, and then go back to your apartment to watch a stupid movie together,” Laura says, taking my hand in hers. “I promise I won’t torture you for long.”
I take a deep breath. “Fine.”
I’m not antisocial per se. I just don’t see how I’m supposed to connect with people when I don’t even have a connection with myself.
Good job, Hazel, very poignant.
We walk over to the corner booth and sit. I watch Laura scan the crowd hovering around the bar. She’s single again and I can tell she’s on the prowl for her next victim. So much for spending time together.
I can’t really blame her, though. Finding a connection with someone would be wonderful.
Sometimes I hate how easy it is for Laura to make connections, regardless of how fleeting. She doesn’t keep guys around for longer than a month or two, but at least she’s out there.
“I see a group of handsome guys!” Laura says with a squeal. She casually flits her eyes to the bar.
“You always do,” I tease, but I follow her gaze anyway.
The breath whooshes out of my lungs. My heart stops beating in my chest. The entire world quiets as if someone pressed the pause button on reality. Or like someone slipped noise-canceling headphones on my head.
It’s the eyes.
The eyes.
The dark brown, almost black, eyes I’ve been drawing for weeks now. They’ve plagued my dreams, dominated my sketches, and now they’re here. Watching me.
They belong to a strong-jawed, lanky man with tousled brown hair and bushy eyebrows.
My whole body flushes, heat burning my cheeks so quickly I have to raise a hand to check I didn’t catch fire.
“Something catch your eye?” Laura’s voice is way too proud. Little brat.
Do I tell Laura? Tell her that he’s...I don’t know what he is.
“You told me to look, so I looked.” I break eye contact with the mystery man and focus back on Laura. If I told her, she’d try to convince me he’s my soulmate or something stupid like that. Best to keep her in the dark for now.
Thankfully, the waiter saves me. I don’t dare look back at the bar as I order a Coke.
“Why didn’t you order a drink?” Laura asks, having ordered herself a Slinky Orgasm or an Over The Ass Slap or whatever the hell drinks are called these days.
“Because one of us has to drive home. If you wanted us to drink together we could’ve ordered a ride share or something instead of driving the Pink Puke Mobile.”
I don’t mention that I don’t like drinking because I hate feeling out of control. Laura already knows that.
“Will you please stop calling my car the Pink Puke Mobile?” Laura crosses her arms. “It’s just pink.”
The waiter drops off our drinks and...ew. Laura’s drink is the same shade of pink as her car and it’s making me want to barf. I have no idea how she can drink that.
“Cheers to not talking about my car anymore?” Laura asks, raising her drink.
I snort. “Cheers to that, I guess.”
“Refills are courtesy of those guys at the bar,” the waiter says as he brings a second round, despite us only having taken a few sips. His finger points right toward Brown-Eyed and Bushy-Eyebrowed and his two friends.
Am I blushing? Yuck.
Laura bats her mile-long eyelashes at the group of guys. “Wow, how generous.”
I can’t help rolling my eyes as two of BEBE’s—Brown-Eyed and Bushy-Eyebrowed—friends wave back enthusiastically.
“You have issues. Why can’t you just find a nice boy and settle down for longer than two minutes?” I wince the minute the words leave my mouth. I sound way too much like my mother.
“ You have issues. Why can’t you get out of your hole and actually meet a guy?” Laura snaps.
You could hear a pin drop.
The urge to comfort her, to smother my own emotions, is too strong to ignore. Despite the fact she hit the nail on the head. But I am out of my hole, and I’m working on making a real life for myself. Finally.
“I’m sorry.” I always apologize first.
She sighs. “Me too. That was uncalled for. Let’s order our burgers and work on this whole hangry thing, hmm?”
“Yes! I’m starving!” Deflection is my super power. I’ve never held Laura accountable for the things she says to hurt me, and I’m not going to start tonight.
“ Hey .” A shaking voice interrupts my internal innuendos. It’s not BEBE, but it’s one of his friends. One of his slightly tipsy friends, if the wobbling is any indication.
His gaze is firmly planted on Laura so I let her take over. I need a burger and I need it now. In my face.
With an approving nod from Laura, I stand and make my way to the bar.
I lean over the side to get the waiter’s attention. “Hi!”
He waves a hand at me as he chats up a very attractive guy with the roundest ass I’ve ever seen. I’m not even mad that he’s taking his time.
“It may be a minute,” says a calm voice that floods over me like an ocean wave.
I freeze. Without looking, I know exactly who that voice belongs to. I don’t know if it’s a witchy moment or what, but I know that voice belongs to BEBE. Almost as if I’ve heard his voice my whole life.
I force a cough, trying to reanimate my body.
I can definitely talk to the man whose eyes have haunted my dreams for weeks. This is totally normal.
“It happens. I’m just hungry.” Very normal response, Hazel. Good job.
BEBE’s lankiness shouldn’t work for him, but all those long limbs are drawing me in. I want to know how many times his arms could wrap around me. Probably fewer than I’d want.
No. I barely know him and I don’t need to be thinking about anything wrapping around anything.
“I was promised mozzarella sticks myself, but Benji seems to have forgotten that.” He motions over to the tipsy boy still leaning precariously over my giggling sister.
“Why are my attempts at enjoying food being thwarted by bubble butts and fluttering eyelashes?” I grumble.
His eyes bug out of his face as water shoots from his mouth like a hose set on high. It takes a few moments for BEBE to stop hysterically laughing.
I’m definitely blushing again, basically on fire. No wonder my mom never allows me in public. She may have been right this whole time.
Thankfully, the almost-death-by-laughter of BEBE has roused the waiter’s attention and he appears in front of us.
“How can I help you?” the waiter asks, eyeing his wet counter.
Is teleportation out of the most embarrassing moment of my life on the menu? “Two cheeseburgers, please.”
“Absolutely, sweetheart. And you?”
“May I have two orders of mozzarella sticks and another round of drinks, please?” BEBE asks politely, still chuckling a bit. Must he draw out my embarrassment so?
“Will do.” The waiter writes down our orders. “Sorry for the delay.”
“No problem.” I wink. I was aiming for funny, but I’m pretty sure it just came off creepy. But the waiter gives me a fond smile regardless. He’s getting a very large tip this evening.
Oh Lord, the innuendo. Jesus take the wheel.
“It was nice to meet you,” I mumble in BEBE’s general direction.
I turn to go back to my table, alone with my sister where I belong, when a gentle hand touches mine for a brief second. I almost jump at the electric buzz that surges through my skin.
I stare at the point of contact for a beat. Two.
That is not normal. But, what about this evening has been?
“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you. I didn’t mean to, you just took me a bit by surprise there. If it helps, no one has made me laugh like that in a long time,” BEBE says so sincerely I swear a piece of my heart melts off.
“You’re welcome?”
“I’m Noah. Noah Rogers.” He extends his hand.
“Hazel Hollis,” I reply. My fingers wrap around his and the same buzz skitters across my skin, raising the little hairs on my arms.
What is that?
“Would you want to wait for our food together?” Noah asks. “Benji just went through a really nasty break up, and talking with your friend is the most I’ve seen him smile in two weeks.”
I turn to my sister and it’s quite apparent she’s barely even noticed my absence. The bitch.
“My sister,” I correct, sitting down. “Until our food arrives.”
Another reason I don’t go out in public very often is I have no idea what to say to people. I have barely any idea what’s going on in popular culture, and I’m sure Noah would be super freaked out to hear how I cleaned the store today by murmuring some Latin-adjacent gibberish.
What do I even talk about? What do people talk about when they can’t stop staring at the other person’s mouth?
Pretty lips are so pretty.
“Tell me a bit about yourself, Hazel.”
The dreaded question. Hi, I’m Hazel and up until yesterday I lived at home with my Mom. I was also unemployed and I come from a long line of witches that I don’t know anything about because my mom refuses to say anything. Nice to meet you.
“There’s not too much to tell. I’m one of those sheltered, boring people who should be studied in a lab somewhere.”
Was I raised in a barn? How was that answer better?
Thankfully, I get a deep, gorgeous laugh in response, not the awkward exit I was expecting.
He leans in, accentuating the lean lines of his shoulders and torso. “Unless you spend your time staring at the wall, there’s always something to tell. What do you do for fun?”
“How dare you guess my favorite hobby on the first try?” I need to rein in this new desire to be funny. It’s not working for me. “I enjoy painting, that’s what I usually do when I’m not working in the shop or teaching.”
Noah perks up like a golden retriever. “Where do you teach? I have a cousin who’s an elementary school teacher.”
“Oh, God no. Not with children.” I shudder at the thought. “I teach a couple of sketching classes at the community center on Saturdays and Wednesdays.”
“Wow, my artistic ability begins and ends at stick figures. You must be talented if you teach.”
“I’m a volunteer. And you know what they say—those who can’t do, teach.” I let out a self-deprecating chuckle.
He shakes his head. “I don’t believe that for a second. You’re talented, I can tell.”
Oh, hello cheeks. I almost forgot you were on fire.
“What about you? Tell me about you.”
He smiles and takes a sip of his drink. Is he as nervous as I am? I’ve never made anyone nervous before.
“I’m just normal, I guess. I work at a publishing house in the city. Shit, that’s a tougher question than I thought.” He scratches his stubble thoughtfully and I swoon a little.
I bet I would get a delightful case of stubble burn on multiple parts of my...
Oh my God, I’m a literal virgin. Where are these thoughts even coming from?
“Two cheeseburgers for you, sweetheart, and two orders of mozzarella sticks for you.” The waiter places our plates in front of us.
Thank God . I needed the rescue.
“Thank you.” I smile and pick up the plates.
Am I lingering a little to see if he’ll ask for my number?
It’s strange because I don’t like being around men—talking to them, flirting with them, being in their general vicinity.
You have dreams about someone’s eyes for weeks and an electric current up your arm when you touch them and suddenly you act like an idiot.
“Could I maybe...?” His hand scrubs his face a little and—God, it shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. “Would it be all right if I called you?”
I put the plates back down and stretch for his phone, which he delivers quickly with a grateful smile. I punch in my number and hand it back, only slightly shaking.