Page 94 of Something Handsome This Way Comes

grievance

Grievance still didn’t understand coffee.

It smelled wonderful. Warm. Bitter. Earthy. Like roasted acorns and autumn rain.

It also made Milo wrinkle his nose every single morning before taking a sip, muttering something about “not being awake enough to person yet.”

If something required suffering before it became enjoyable, Grievance failed to see the appeal. Still, watching Milo make it had become one of his favorite parts of every morning.

Outside, October leaves skittered across the apothecary path while Marigold happily munched breakfast from her hay pile. Milo stood at the Bunsen burner, now heating Mr. Wetherby’s daily potion, while wearing his favorite oversized pink knitted sweater.

Grievance loved that sweater. It swallowed his mate whole. The sleeves hung over his hands until only his fingertips peeked free, and every time Milo reached for something, he had to push the fabric back with an impatient little huff.

It made him look so small.

And the best part was, since the sweater hung on him like a dress, he usually abandoned the idea of pants altogether. Something Grievance had greedily taken advantage of on more than one occasion.

Milo poured steaming water through the little copper brewer while Pip hung upside down from the spice rack, watching with all four eyes and munching on a mealworm.

He watched Milo stir his cauldron with one hand while pouring a generous helping of pumpkin spice creamer into his coffee with the other.

“Wasn’t it your grandmother who said, ‘Never conjure where you cook ’?”

“Technically, you ‘brew’ coffee. So it’s not cooking,” he said, taking a sip, smiling contentedly. “She also said, ‘Life is too short to drink bad coffee.’”

“I think you just made that up.”

Milo shrugged. “I guess we’ll never know.” Grievance shook his head as Milo added another heavy spoonful of brown sugar.

“You completely defeat the purpose of your coffee when you do that.”

“If the purpose is to make me happy in the morning, I disagree.”

“I thought waking up next to me is what made you happy in the morning,” Grievance teased.

“It does. And I remember that, after my coffee.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you love it,” Milo replied, standing on tiptoe to give him a quick kiss on the cheek and returning to his morning potions.

Their mornings had settled into something Grievance had once believed impossible.

Routine.

The certainty that tomorrow would look much like today. He had spent most of his life waking prepared to run. Prepared to fight. Prepared to survive. The lives of MythBeasts were often brutal, with no mercy shown for those wanting to sleep in.

Now… He woke wondering whether Milo would wear the pink sweater or the cream one.

It was a much better life.

Coffee finished, Milo carried his mug into the apothecary storefront, where trays of ingredients already waited. As always, Grievance followed, just to watch his little witch work his craft.

Today’s work wasn’t complicated. In addition to the usual delivery of ‘horny chicken potion’ (a feed supplement Milo invented to increase the egg production of hens), Old Mister Wetherby also requested a remedy for his prize roosters, who had picked up feather rot after getting into cursed nettles. The remedy only required moonmint oil, vanilla moss, and a stabilizing tonic.

Mr. Wetherby had been one of Milo’s regular customers for years, buying his nutrient powder and paying him in more eggs than Milo and Grievance could ever hope to eat.

Milo hummed quietly as he measured powders into glass bottles. Grievance lasted almost twenty seconds before crossing the room. He slipped both arms around Milo’s waist from behind. His mate fit so perfectly against him.