He removes his glasses and attempts to dry them on his shirt, giving me an unobstructed view of his eyes. “You tell me, queen of leaves.”
I open myself up to his energy, trying desperately not to blush at the intimacy of his penetrating gaze. He feels off today—tired, maybe a little on edge.
“Something rejuvenating,” I say. “With a little pep, but not too heavy.”
The man needs sleep. No need to overdo it on the caffeine kick.
“Sound good?” I ask.
“Stevie, I trust you implicitly.” He puts his hand on his heart and smiles, just like always.
Goddess, those eyes…
“You’ll regret that one day,” I reply, just like always.
“Not a chance.”
It’s our thing, this banter. Yes, we have athing. It’s sickening, and it makes my insides fizzy, and no matter how off-limits he is, right now he’s the only normal, predictable, routine thing about my entire day, and I desperately cling to it.
“Be right back.” I head into the kitchen, ignoring the heat between my thighs and Jessa’s know-it-all smirk.
“I’m warming up his buns,” she teases. “Maybe one day you’ll get to do the same. In bed. Naked.”
I roll my eyes. How she can go from impassioned magickal life coach to middle school jokester in less than two minutes is beyond me.
“Sorry, Miss Velasquez. Stevie can’t indulge in your pervy little fantasies right now. She’s busy working. You know, that thing we do here sometimes?”
“I’mworking! I told you, I’m handling the buns.”
“Then you’d better stay focused.”
“Getting back to Kirin—”
“Buns, Jessa. Last time I checked, they don’t warm themselves.”
“The man looks good wet, is all I’m saying.”
I spare a moment to chuck a pen at her, which she deftly dodges. She winks at me across the stainless-steel counter that separates us, and I smile; we’ve got a lot to talk about, but our earlier fight has been forgiven.
The pantry shelf is full of hundreds of jars, canisters, and herb and spice bottles, each one promising a different blend, a different healing magick all their own. I take down what I need, then get to work on Kirin’s special brew.
“A natural healer,” Mom used to whisper, pressing a kiss to the top of my head as I made my blends. As much as my parents tried to downplay their magick, Mom could never truly hide her fascination when she saw my natural witchcraft at work, reading energies and concocting the perfect brew for every customer. She never shared much about her magick with me, but she once told me I was the first true empath in the family.
I blink back tears, refocusing on my task. I’m better at that now—coming back before grief takes hold. When my parents first died, it seemed like it was waiting for me around every corner, lurking in every shadow, ready to pounce at the slightest provocation—finding an old lipstick of Mom’s in a bathroom drawer, seeing Dad’s handwriting on a receipt, the smell of blueberry pancakes, some stupid song on the radio.
I didn’t speak for three months after—not even to tell Search and Rescue what’d happened. Everyone thought it was the shock, or some survivor’s guilt thing, but they were all wrong.
I was just afraid that if I opened my mouth, grief would reach a hand inside and stop my heart.
* * *
“I’m calling it Get Up and Go Green.” I pour Kirin’s first cup and set the teapot on his table. “Japanese green tea with dried pineapple and mango, a whisper of shredded coconut, and a pinch of coriander.”
Like a true connoisseur, he lifts the cup and inhales the steam, then takes a sip, savoring it for a long moment before taking another—a practice I find both mesmerizing and endearing. When he looks up at me, his glasses are all steamed up, his energy brighter than it was a moment ago. “You’re amazing, Stevie. Beyond perfection.”
“Thank you,” I say, but my brain must be channeling Jessa, because all I really hear is…
You’re amazing, Stevie. Allow me to tie you down and remove your clothing with my teeth, after which I’ll read you dirty love poems and lick every inch of your skin until your legs are trembling and you’re begging me to make you—
