Chapter 4 Seriphina Joseph
~ Seriphina Joseph ~
WAKING UP, I BLINK away dreams of storm-colored eyes and sharp features.
I roll out of bed with a groan. Rubbing my face, I chastise myself for still thinking about a man I’ve talked to once.
After the experiences I’ve had with men, I have no interest in having a school-girl crush on one.
So what if he looks like a mountain I want to climb?
Who cares if I haven’t gotten laid in literally years?
He’s a man. And men come with complications, issues, baggage, attitude, and most of all heartache.
And I don’t want it. I'm happy living life as a shopkeeper with my battery operated boyfriend to keep me company. It’s quiet and I mind my own business.
I have my regulars and my close friends.
I don’t need more. I don’t want more. I know I'm lying to myself.
I brush my teeth, my hair, and put on clothes.
I pick out a floor length flowy blue maxi dress that hangs over me loosely, with a halter neckline and a low back.
It’s the middle of April and the weather is on the warmer side.
I have more weight than most and I’m not living to impress anyone.
I usually don’t care. Let someone complain about my flabby arms. I happen to like my tattoos.
I didn’t spend a fortune on my ink to hide it under clothes because people have issues with a few extra pounds.
I slide on black flip-flops and twist my hair back in a clip at the nape of my neck.
I apply simple eyeliner and a clear lip gloss.
I’m thirty-five years old and have no desire to do more unless I’m going out.
And that rarely happens anymore. I grab a muffin, my phone, and my latest book and head downstairs.
It's sunny this morning compared to the rain from yesterday. I head behind the counter and start the kettles. I eat my muffin while I make sure everything is in place. Going to the door, I unlock it and flip the sign to ‘Open.’ I usually open at 9 a.m. and there’s about forty-five minutes until then.
If someone wants to come in early, I don’t mind.
I pour a cup of oolong tea and add a bit of honey. Then I sit down and open my book.
The bell above the door jingles. I expect to see my usual customers, the group of early regulars that like to start their day with some tea and gossip in the corner.
But instead of the Biddies Gossip Club, there’s someone I’ve never seen before.
He’s tall, black hair, with blacker eyes.
He has a no-nonsense air about him and a cocky walk.
I immediately dislike him. This man is nothing like the one I met in the bookstore yesterday.
He exudes an entirely different brand of danger, one that implies you’ll end up with concrete shoes.
Griffin’s brand of danger whispers you're going to feel safe while he utterly wrecks you.
He looks around for a beat, taking in the shelves of crystals, the books, the cozy couches, before he turns to me. He definitely doesn’t look like the type that needs healing salves or tarot cards.
“Morning.” His voice is as unpleasant as his face.
“Good morning. Welcome to Moonglow. Is there something I can help you with?”
I try to maintain a neutral, somewhat friendly demeanor but the vibe he gives off makes my skin crawl. Observing me, he takes in my appearance, my dress, and the book on the counter. I work to keep my composure despite both of us knowing he doesn’t belong here. I grip my cup a little tighter.
“Actually, yeah.” He grins. “There is something you can help me with.”
“Alright.” I raise a brow.
“I’m looking for something.” His attention lingers on a shelf of incense. A glint of dark metal peeks out from under his suit jacket. He studies me again, flicking from my face to my tattoos, to my piercings, then back to my eyes.
“I can order things on occasion, if I can find it. Do you want to be more specific?” I school my features. I don’t need him knowing I’ve seen the gun in his waistband. My heart slams against my ribs and my palms are clammy.
“You know.” His tone is nonchalant. “You’re pretty observant.”
“I find it helps with customer satisfaction. Are you sure you’re in the right place?” I set my book down on the counter and create distance between us by going after more tea.
“Trust me.” He waves off my question. “I know where I am.”
“Then how about you tell me why you are here, before my actual customers show up and my attention gets diverted.” I pour more tea in my cup and attempt to push him past the small talk. I have a feeling I’m not going to like his answer.
He chuckles. His expression remains cool and watchful.
“You’re a little more shrewd than most storeowners.
I like that,” he replies, leaning an elbow on the counter.
“I’m not here to waste your time. But my business is of a delicate nature.
Something I feel might benefit from discretion on your part. ”
“I’m not sure what I’ve done to earn that kind of trust and I don’t need your secrets.” My eyes narrow. “You can keep them.”
“It’s not about you, to be honest. It’s more about the setting. Your establishment seems... secure. No cameras, no other workers that I’ve seen. It lends itself to sensitive conversations.”
“No.” The answer shoots out before I can think twice about it. “I will not give you a place to make deals or launder money for you and whoever it is you work for. So if you aren’t interested in a cup of tea, then I believe you’ve overstayed your welcome.”
His face falls, my reaction surprising him.
It’s clear this man isn’t used to hearing the word no.
He obviously hadn’t expected my immediate and blunt refusal.
“Money laundering? That’s a bold assumption,” he snarks, with a hint of irritation.
“And here I thought we could have a civil conversation.”
“This is a civil conversation.” I glare at him. My anger overthrows whatever caution I had left. “But go ahead. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“Fine, maybe I’m here for more unsavory purposes,” he snaps, all pretenses of civility gone. “But I’m not stupid enough to ask you for anything that obvious. What kind of moron walks into a shop and says ‘Hey, can you help with a money laundering operation?’”
“You?” I scoff at him. “No matter how you package it, a turd is still a turd.” I point to the door. “Get out.”
“Look, lady.” He moves closer. “I’m not going anywhere ‘til you and I reach an understanding.”
My shoulders go rigid and heat flows up my neck.
I can only think about one thing, making him leave.
I pull my stun gun out from underneath the counter and aim it at his chest. “If I hit you with this, it’s lights out.
” Surprisingly, my hand doesn’t shake. “And then you can explain to the police why you’re here. ”
“You can’t be serious. You think you’re gonna take me down with a stun gun?” He raises an eyebrow at me like he thinks I’ve lost my mind. And maybe I have.
“I mean, you could stick around and find out or you could leave and forget my shop ever existed in the first place.”
He looks from my face to the stun gun and back again, like he’s trying to find the bluff. He’s annoyed further when he doesn’t find one. With a huff, he steps back from the counter and holds up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright.” He takes another step back. “You’ve made your point.”
I keep the stun gun pointed at him until he leaves.
When I know for a fact he’s gone, I finally drop my arms and take a deep breath.
By the time the bell rings for the first real customer of the day, I’ve put it back under the counter and I’m sitting down.
I stare straight ahead, sort of dazed and my fingers tremble. I shake my head and force a smile.
“Welcome to Moonglow!” I chirp with false cheerfulness. In the back of my mind I know, I fucked up.
The rest of the day passes in a blur. I keep drifting back to the man from earlier.
His face, his words, the way he had looked at Moonglow like he was purchasing property.
My usual customers file in, chattering away with each other, blissfully unaware of the danger.
I greet them, pretending everything is normal.
The memory lingers like an unwelcome shadow.
As I make tea and complete sales, I half expect him to walk back in.
Each time the bell jingles above the door, my chest tightens. But each time it’s another customer.
The entire day goes on like this. I try to distract myself with mundane tasks.
I dust shelves, check inventory. I rearrange a few displays.
But no matter what I do, I can’t shake the feeling that it isn’t over.
I know I’m going to regret taking a stand.
Men like him don’t stop because you tell them ‘no.’ They take what they want.
But I won’t give up Moonglow to a bunch of criminals without a fight.
I love this store. It’s my home, my baby.
And I’ll be damned if some piece of shit is going to walk in here off of the streets and demand I hand it to them.
Time drags by, I start to relax and prepare to end the day.
The door swings open and the bell jingles again.
The clock reads a little after 7:30 p.m., I rarely get customers this late although I close at nine.
I look up from the back where I had been organizing some crystals on a shelf and my blood runs cold.
He strides in, but this time he brought friends.