Chapter Twelve #2
Not to mention one of my kind was responsible for the death of Juniper’s mother.
Every time I saw that scar on Juniper’s face, those deep lines gouged across her cheek, it made me sick with guilt.
Even if I wasn’t the one responsible for her trauma, it still haunted me.
It made me remember what I was capable of.
I watched as Rowena stacked the paper cups and lids on the counter and lifted them in her arms. She spun around on her heel just as the song she was humming crescendoed, and her embroidered black skirt twirled in the air. My heart melted, and a warm, dreamy smile crept across my face.
I wanted her.
As Rowena turned back around, she caught a glimpse of me watching her through the window. Her big brown eyes flickered with surprise, which quickly softened into glee as she grinned at me through the door.
She liked that I was watching her.
Guilt surged over me, sending a tidal wave of nausea roiling through my body. She was gazing right at me, that beautiful smile spread across her dark lips, and all I could do was flinch and turn away.
Get ahold of yourself, I scolded as I crouched below the window, gulping down deep lungfuls of air.
I was letting my anxiety get the best of me. Like it always did. And I was tired of it.
You want to be with her? My conscience continued lecturing me. Then enjoy the moments you have. Take advantage of that time, and stop dwelling on the future. You know there isn’t one for you and her. All you have is now.
I heard Rowena’s boots clicking on the hardwood floor, and I bolted away from the kitchen door just before it swung open.
“Oh, hello Nettie,” Rowena greeted innocently, as if she hadn’t just noticed me spying on her through the window. She held a cleaning rag in one hand, and she rubbed her temples with the other. “I may close up shop a bit early today. We haven’t had a customer in almost an hour.”
“Oh.” My gaze flicked over to my still-unfrosted sugar cookies. I hadn’t even opened the frosting containers.
“You can still work on those,” Rowena replied, setting her cleaning cloth on the counter. “You can bring them into the front of the shop. I can help you. I’ll even make us some coffee and tea.”
I froze, my heart fluttering. Is Rowena… asking me to spend time with her?
“I thought you were closing the shop early?” I asked.
“I am. We can still stay here though.” I saw the faintest hint of a blush tint Rowena’s cheeks. “No one’s going to come through between now and three. Everyone’s setting up for the pumpkin carving contest tonight.”
The pumpkin carving contest. I opened my mouth, then snapped it shut.
My first instinct, as usual, was to pry. To ask Rowena why she wasn’t going to this event. Why she didn’t go to any event. Why she was a recluse in her own community, one full of witches who seemed to avoid her.
But prying would get me nowhere. It already made Rowena, Juniper, and plenty of other witches in town uncomfortable. It made Fritzi run away, and Mavro literally poof out of existence. It was driving people away from me.
And Rowena just invited me to spend time with her. We could decorate cookies and sip coffee and tea while a warm fire crackled in the fireplace. I could listen to her hum that little tune, until I’d memorized enough of it to join her. Maybe we’d bump into each other again while working.
Maybe she’d hug me again.
Enjoy the moments you have, I reminded myself. Take advantage of this time, and stop dwelling on the future.
“Sounds great,” I smiled, and her glossy brown eyes lit up. “I’ll bring the cookies to the front of the shop.”
“And I’ll boil some tea,” Rowena replied. “I know you’re not a fan of it, but I have a new blend I’d like you to try.”
“Okay,” I nodded. It was true – I still didn’t like tea. But I was willing to try it. For Rowena, I was willing to try anything.
“Let’s do it.”
I hadn’t felt so happy and content in a long time.
Now that the café wasn’t swarming with customers, it finally felt cozy and relaxed.
The faerie fire orbs glowed a dull, warm color, somewhere between orange and yellow, their fiery shades softened by the opaque off-white fabric of the lanterns.
Mavro happily settled himself onto the hot plate with a piece of charcoal, and Rowena struck a match and lit the fireplace.
She even pulled out a few large, earth-toned candles, and the autumn scents of cinnamon, pine, and hazelnut wafted through my nose as I prepared our cookie-frosting station.
I sighed, enjoying the feeling of my lungs expanding and contracting. The soothing sounds of the teapot boiling and the fireplace crackling made me want to curl up in one of the high-backed chairs with a plush blanket and a hefty book.
But of course, I couldn’t. We had work to do.
And to top it all off, for the first time since I’d arrived at the café, Rowena fetched a record from the back closet and plopped it into the vintage record player near the front door.
“Where’d you get that record player?” I asked. Even with my limited knowledge of the outside world, I knew record players were ancient technology by human standards.
“It was my mother’s,” Rowena replied, her tone both sorrowful and reminiscent.
“She… she passed, didn’t she?”
Rowena nodded. “Six years ago. I was nineteen. We witches have the best healing abilities in the world… but there’s only so much we can do for cancer.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright,” Rowena smiled sadly. “I have lots of beautiful memories of her. Including listening to this old record player.”
Rowena turned the device on, and she lowered a needle-like instrument onto the record as it began to spin. The record player had a very rich, loud, velvety sound for such a little device, and the café was soon filled with the rustic hum of old folk music.
The cookie frosting started off as a serious project.
Rowena and I experimented with different piping tips and styles, creating a variety of rosettes and swirls on the cookies.
When it came to sprinkles, I dumped a bunch of them on each cookie, while Rowena placed them individually, in a more methodical manner.
The record player filled the air with sound, so we were content to work without conversation. But in between songs, when Rowena had to flip the records or swap them out, we chatted about our lives.
I learned lots of little details about Rowena.
She was twenty-five years old, and her birthday was in September.
Like me, she was an avid reader, and we had some heated debates about our favorite fantasy novels.
She drank a cup of Earl Grey every morning because it was her mother’s habit when she was a teenager.
Like Rowena, her mother was never a fan of coffee.
Rowena enjoyed rainy and snowy days when she could light the fireplace, make herself a cup of tea, and read a good book without anyone bothering her. I knew she kept to herself because she was an outcast, but I got the sense she enjoyed the peace and quiet of only having herself for company.
I could relate to that. For the first time in my life, I’d been on my own in that run-down little cottage, reading alone next to my faerie fire lanterns every night.
At first, being alone terrified me, since on Hollenboro I was constantly surrounded by my pack.
But now, I’d come to enjoy it. Because solitude wasn’t just about being alone.
It was about independence. Being able to learn and explore and navigate the world on my own terms.
I even offered Rowena some information about myself.
Like how I’d spent much of my life taking care of my younger sisters after my mother passed.
How I was always surrounded by family, and my life was full of activity, yet I felt so isolated.
How at night, I’d sit on the shoreline of my home island while the cold air billowed around me, wondering what was at the other end of the vast, dark ocean that sprawled all the way across the horizon.
Of course, I explained all this in the context of being a human living on one of the lobster fishing islands off the coast. Plenty of them were populated by humans, and being able to tell my story without giving away my identity brought me a sense of peace and comfort.
I’d never had these sorts of discussions with anyone before.
As Rowena spoke about her own life, as we worked side-by-side in the café, I had the feeling she hadn’t, either.
The sound of the teapot boiling crescendoed into a sharp hiss, and Rowena stepped away to remove it from the hot plate. Mavro crawled out from underneath, re-shaping himself into a weasel, and Rowena gave him a gentle pat on the head.
“Ready to try my new concoction?” Rowena asked with a slight mischievousness in her voice as she fetched two teacups from the cupboard.
I chuckled, wiping orange frosting off my fingers. “Of course. I can’t guarantee I’ll like it, though.”
“I’m certain you’ll at least like it more than Earl Grey,” Rowena teased as she poured steaming water into two cups and lowered a metal, heart-shaped infuser into each one. “Even I can admit that stuff is an acquired taste.”
I settled into one of the high-backed chairs as Rowena brought the tea tray over to the fireplace. I always sat on the right, and Rowena sat on the left. I was beginning to think of them as our chairs. After all, no one else ever used them.
“It smells good,” I noted as I settled the warm cup in my palms. Thin, gossamer-like trails of steam rose out of the dark liquid and tickled my nose. I caught notes of cinnamon, ginger, and even maple syrup. It smelled like autumn in a cup.
“Try it,” Rowena urged. She’d already taken a long sip of her tea.
I lifted the cup to my lips, letting a small amount of the tea seep into my mouth. It was strong and bitter, like black tea always was, but it was balanced by the sweetness of the maple syrup and the fragrance of the cinnamon and ginger.