Chapter 11 #2
“I’m just saying,” he’s replying to me but still looking at her, “wash your hands, kid.” And then he makes himself scarce for the afternoon. I make no objections.
Natalie gives us an in-depth tour, mostly showing me all the changes she’s made since I was last here, which are primarily decor she’s picked up from the nearby thrift store.
We go outside and do a lap around the property, and Jules gets to meet Ethel, their garden ghost. She didn’t make herself corporeal like Winston did, and Jules is entranced by Ethel’s gray, translucent form while she points out various seeds she’s planted outside the garden shed.
The hours pass with the three of us drinking mocktails and snacking on chips and guacamole.
We play Uno while listening to pop hits, and I can tell by the volume of Jules’s voice and the wild laughter bursting out of her that she’s having a blast with her Aunt Natalie.
We order pizza for dinner from Crust Lust, and drive back to Pebblebrook as the clock strikes eight.
Jules has done a lot of peopling today, and I can tell she’s hitting the wall.
I’ve been keeping my screen time limited today so I could be fully present with Jules, but once she falls asleep in the bed beside me, I grab my phone and smile as I read the texts from Dominic.
They’re mostly about the menu updates accompanied by pictures of the changes Anton made to the ones I tasted earlier.
The last message, however, is unlike the rest.
Nic: Let me take you to dinner tomorrow. It’s weird to have you so close but not being able to see you.
I’ve been thinking the same thing all day. There’s one problem, though.
I have Jules.
As desperate as I am to spend time with Nic and, let’s be real, ride that glorious dick again, I can’t exactly ditch my kid for the night.
Nic: She’s invited too, of course. We can show her the town. It’ll be fun.
I have no doubt about that, and I’m touched he wants to get to know her better.
Having the two of them spend time together was a worry of mine this week, because is it irresponsible of me to introduce my daughter to a guy I’m casually hooking up with?
Yes, but that’s not all Nic is to me. We’re not in a serious relationship, but he’s my friend, and a wonderful man.
There’s also the fact that I truly enjoy being in Mapletown, and if I continue coming up here, I want Jules to love it too.
Sounds great. Thank you for inviting her.
The next day, Jules and I drop off the pizza rolls and cupcakes, and run into Camilla and her daughter Rocío as we’re leaving. Rocío is close to Jules’s age, while Camilla and I are chatting about witchcraft, I notice the two of them start to talk. They exchange Instagram handles before we part.
Nic tells me to meet him by Mapletown Rock in the center of the square at five.
It’s a mild winter day, which is a huge relief.
The sun is shining, it’s forty-seven degrees, and the piles of snow on the edge of the sidewalks are rapidly melting.
Since the town square is pretty small and the walk to it is quick, Jules and I decide to get dressed up.
I wear a leopard print sweater, fitted black skirt, and knee boots, and Jules sports a knee-length maroon dress with black tights and platform oxfords.
We find Nic standing near a red and white blanket spread out on the grass next to the rock, with his hands behind his back.
“Uh oh, a picnic?” Jules says quietly at my side. “Mom, you hate picnics.”
“Shh. We don’t know it’s a picnic, but if it is, we need to smile and be polite, okay?”
I give Nic a hug, and Jules gives him a fist bump. The day goes immediately downhill after that.
He hands me a beautiful bouquet of red roses and baby’s breath, and in an instant, water runs from my eyes with the force of parallel waterfalls.
The sneezing begins too, and the smoky cat-eye I took a long time to perfect is likely ruined.
Jules has seen this movie before and knows to get rid of the flowers.
I hear her say, “It’s the little white flowers.
I’m sorry. They’re very pretty,” as she takes them away, and I make a note to thank her later for complimenting Nic’s efforts.
She digs out an allergy pill from my purse, and Nic hands me a bottle of water to suck it down.
Once my symptoms pass, Jules does her best to clean up my face using a tissue.
That’s when I realize Nic has, unfortunately, set up a picnic.
This is a problem for two reasons. First of all, I don’t enjoy dining on grass, where bugs can easily get to me and whatever I’m eating.
Secondly, there’s no way I’ll be able to go from standing to sitting on the blanket in the skirt I’m wearing.
It hugs my body from hips to calves, so unless I’m trust-falling onto the stiff, still-frozen ground, it ain’t happening.
But I try, oh do I try, because this was a sweet gesture, and I don’t want Nic feeling like he biffed this entire day, especially after the flowers.
I start by folding myself down to my knees, which isn’t easy.
Luckily, I have Jules to lean against on my descent.
Then I shift sideways until I’m on my ass and my legs are bent to the side.
“Are you my mom’s boyfriend?” Jules asks as Nic opens the picnic basket.
My stomach drops.
I suppose the roses did make this seem like a date. But…wait. That’s not what this is, right? I thought the goal was to take me and Jules out to dinner. See the town. With Jules tagging along, I didn’t anticipate there being even a hint of romance.
“No, pumpkin. Nic and I are just good friends.”
Nic’s hand pauses in mid-air at my words as he lifts a thermos out of the basket. His expression is unreadable, but the pause makes me think he didn’t love my answer.
“That’s right. Just friends,” he adds, the corner of his mouth curving into a half-smile.
I guess that settles that.
There are a handful of people in the park, and I take a moment to watch them.
There’s a young couple making out in the gazebo, high school age, I’m guessing.
I spot Vlad the vampire on a wooden bench in the far corner, ripping off pieces of bread and tossing them to a murder of crows hovering around his feet.
Then there’s the father holding his daughter’s hands as she does that stiff toddler stomp across the grass while Mom snaps photos.
They look human, so they must be witches or shifters of some kind.
“Mom,” Jules says in warning, then knocks my hand away from my face.
Was I mapping? I hadn’t even realized. That’s the biggest issue, though, isn’t it? I do it subconsciously.
“Everything okay?” Nic asks, his worried eyes scanning my face.
“Yeah, it’s just…” How do I explain this? Do I want to? It’s not exactly a turn on to hear the person you’re fucking has a tendency to pick their face until it bleeds. “It’s nothing.”
“She was mapping,” Jules offers. “That’s what you call it, right?”
“Jules,” I scold, then mouth, Enough.
I genuinely don’t think she was blowing my cover to make me look bad.
She’s at that age where she’s still discovering the variety of ways to feel embarrassed in front of the opposite sex, and I don’t think she understands how much shame I carry with this disorder, despite dermatillomania being somewhat common, especially among women.
Thankfully, Nic was looking down into the picnic basket. “What’s that?” he asks when his gaze lifts to mine.
“Nothing,” I say, hoping he can sense the finality in my tone. “It’s nothing.”
He drops the subject by pouring steaming hot chocolate from a large thermos into paper cups. Then he sets out three paper plates. Wrapped in aluminum foil is a big, soft pretzel that he breaks into three big pieces, and pulls out small containers of what looks to be dipping sauces for us to share.
“Did you make this?” I ask after moaning around the first gooey bite.
“Can’t take credit for the pretzel,” he says, “but I did make the sauce.”
There are three, which include a thick grainy mustard, a cream cheese with a brown-orange tint, and what I’m going to guess is honey.
Jules tries the cream cheese sauce, while I dip my pretzel piece into the honey.
While we’re chewing, she meets my gaze with panic and disgust. There’s a sharp tingling at the tip of my nose, and my stomach churns the longer I chew.
We don’t spit out our food, but we chew quickly and throw back as much water as possible.
“Nic, what is that?”
He jerks back, shock and confusion twisting his sweet green face. “It’s our new spicy maple syrup. I put it in its own little cup and mixed it with cream cheese.” His eyes dart between us. “No good?”
I shake my head while plastering on a sympathetic smile. “It was a good try, but I think there might be a bit too much spice and not enough syrup. What are the ingredients?”
“Um, maple syrup, red pepper flakes, sriracha, and this hot pepper sauce Anton bought last time he was in Cedar Grove, South Carolina.”
Fuck. I know the answer before I even ask the question. “What kind of pepper sauce?”
“Something reaper, I think he said.”
I take another swig of water. “Likely the Carolina Reaper, which is one of the spiciest peppers in the world.”
“Oh, shit.” Nic grimaces. “So he should leave that out next time, right?”
I place my hand on his and rub circles over his palm. “Nic, I don’t know what the taste buds of the monsters in town are like, but if you serve this sauce to a human, one burp could set the whole bar on fire.”
I watch his face fall, and it cuts through my chest like a rusty knife.
“Most hot honey is made with honey, chili pepper flakes, and an acid element, usually apple cider vinegar,” I explain.
“If Anton gives this another try, which I really think he should, I’d encourage him to make a batch that’s safe for the human tongue.
Cut out the sriracha and the Carolina Reaper sauce, okay? ”