“I madetea!”
I announce it with the same awestricken amazement I imagine Prometheus employed when he brought fire to the mortals, but the Devil doesn’t seem bothered by my misplaced exuberanceorthe unabashed ogling—I mean observing.
In fact, the bastard is grinning at me. Grinning! With his adorably rumpled hair and adorably morninged morning face and that firm, firm,firmbody.
“In that case…” He takes the tray and sets it on the coffee table in front of the couch. “Good morning, Violet Pepperdine.”
He knows my full name?
“Good morning Mister… Um… Devil Man!” I reply. “Hello! The black kettle with the poppy design is yours, so help yourself!”
“Do you always speak in exclamation points?”
“No! Only when I’m nervous! Not that I’m nervous. Mostly. I’ve just… never had an overnight guest.”
He arches a sexy dark brow, a look that makes everything south of my bellybutton melt.
“In the café!” I rush to explain, awkward laughter bubbling out of me like a cauldron spell gone wild. “ObviouslyI’ve had overnight guests in my apartment.Tonsof them. I’m a pro!”
Good goddess, somebody hold me back before I die of a self-inflicted mortification wound…
The Devil doesn’t say anything to that, just pours himself a cup of tea, his eyes dancing with a humor and lightness I didn’t think was possible for him. Especially not after all the brooding and sarcasm last night.
Confused by the contrast, I reach out to sense his energy—nothing invasive on my part, just a light perusal to see if I’m walking into a death trap. His energy is powerful and intense, but I’m not picking up anything negative or malicious. He’s definitely guarded, though. And bewildered, which I guess is to be expected.
For now, I’m safe.
Anticipation has me in a tight hold as he lifts the cup and saucer, draws the teacup to his face, and inhales. The steam curls around his parted mouth, but before he can even take his first sip, the words are spilling out of me like an unstoppable river of pure babble.
“Welcome to Wayward Bay,” I say. “That’s the name of the blend. And also, yes, welcome. I never got to say it last night. Just to your friend. I think maybe you and I got off on the wrong foot, which is entirely my fault, obviously. I don’t blame you for being upset. I just… summoning you reallywasunintentional, and I’m so, so sorry. For what it’s worth, I never,eversip and spell. I don’t even like drinking all that much, to be honest. And I recognize that magic is a responsibility as much as it is a privilege and I don’t take that lightly—I never have. I was having asuperbad day yesterday—the worst in a long time, actually—and my sisters came over to cheer me up, and I over-indulged. Not that a bad day is an excuse, of course, but I thought you deserved the explanation. As well as my assurances that I’ll doeverythingI can to figure this out and break the spell A.S.A.P. so you can be on your way back home. And while I’m not interested in signing away my soul, if there’s anything Icanhelp you with in the future, I’m totally here for you. Just… please say something. Anything. Even if it’s just that you’re going to smite me.”
The Devil says nothing. Just closes his eyes and finally takes a sip of the tea. Sighs. Takes another sip. Sets the cup and saucer down without so much as aclink.
“Devlin,” he finally says, opening his eyes. Unreadable, as ever.
“Does that mean you like it? I’ve got lots of other kinds. I can make you whatever you want. Black, green, herbal, hot cider… Pretty much anything but coffee.”
“Coffee? I should think not.” His mouth curves into a soft smile. “Devlin is my name, Mushroom. The one I go by nowadays, and I’ve grown rather fond of it. So you can call me that. Although ‘Mr. Devil Man’ has a certain ring to it.”
“Devlin.”
It comes out more breathy than I mean it to, and while I register a slight uptick of smug satisfaction in his energy, he has the grace not to tease me about it.
“Despite the drunken summoning,” he says, “the non-consensual binding and ensuing non-consensual imprisonment, the appalling lack of free WiFi in this establishment, and the ceaseless pre-caffeine morning chatter…” He reaches again for his teacup and saucer, shakes his dark head, then takes another delicate sip. When he meets my eyes again, his smiles grows even brighter, a pulse of warmth emanating through his energy. “Any witch who brews a cuppa this good can’t beallbad.”
“Really? You like it?” I’m bouncing on my toes at the almost-praise. At the genuine smile he’s been keeping in reserve, finally making an appearance.
“I wouldn’t lie about something as important as tea.” Devlin sets the cup on the saucer, then crosses his legs and balances the saucer on his kneecap, somehow making the sweatpants look as classy as they do sexy. “I accept your apology for the summoning, however inconvenient it may be. Now sit down, pour yourself some of your lovely tea, and tell me why you were having such a bad day yesterday.”
His energy still feels genuine, just an honest curiosity, no traps detected, so I perch on the edge of the couch, keeping a respectful distance, lest some part of me brush against some part of him and spontaneously combust.
“The Kettle and Cauldron is on the verge of closing down.” I tell him about the back rent, the realtor nephew and his nastygram, Mean Beans, the whole chain of personal calamities that got me here. “And it’s totally my fault. I get that. There were plenty of times over the years where I saw the train coming, but I just couldn’t get out of the way fast enough, you know? I always assumed I’d figure it out—another credit card with a better rate, or a new tea blend to put this place on the map. But it was never enough.Nothingis ever enough. Now I’ve got a month to come up with a hundred grand, or I’m done. Nothing short of a heist can dig me out of this hole.”
It’s more than I’ve ever admitted to anyone, even to myself. Shame simmers inside, but it doesn’t boil over. Doesn’t send me into a spiral of despair.
For the first time in years, I actually feel... lighter. Hopeful, even.
What is it about sharing your deepest secrets with total strangers?
