Page 47 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Spite & Spellwork

She poured water from the kettle into the pot and set it in front of Avery, who, having retaken her seat, was smiling back at her. Was there a location above cloud nine? Cloud nine hundred perhaps? She moved to help the customer at the register, barely able to tear her gaze away. “How can I help…” The cloud evaporated beneath her. “Hugh?”

His smile was charming. It had always been charming. It had been the first thing she noticed about him the day they met and her first reason for distrusting him. It was open and sincere, but not so wide it seemed to have an ulterior motive, and just a little lopsided, which somehow only made it more endearing. “Hello, Magpie.”

It was as if all her defensive training fizzled out the moment she saw him—not that she had been planning on hitting Hugh, even if he deserved it—but she had not anticipated her entire body locking into place. She was just…frozen.

“I like what you’ve done with your hair,” he offered.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice was unsupported and hushed, but at least she’d managed to find it.

“I’ve missed you.”

Missed her? How long had she ached to hear anything like that? Yet now, here, the words were confounding. “I don’t understand.”

The deep blue of his eyes seemed endless and sad. “What’s to understand? I haven’t seen you in months, and I missed you.”

He hadn’t seen her in months because he’d left. Not only left but left her at the altar. Over one hundred people watched him do it. She wanted to spit it in his face, but her throat felt tight. “I…needed to get away.” She gulped for air. “Be with family.”

“I heard about Saoirse. I’m so sorry.”

“Friend of the family, are you?” Avery’s voice cut in with clarity and grace, rescuing Saga from the conversation she’d rehearsed a million times in her head but now, in performance, had forgotten the script for entirely.

It was Hugh’s turn to look taken aback, first that someone had interrupted, then at the striking woman whose gaze suggested she might like to strike him personally. “Saga and I are old friends.”

Avery chuffed impolitely and removed the scarf from around her neck, taking time to fold it neatly and set it on the stool beside her with care. “Old friends?”

Hugh’s chest swelled up. “That’s right.”

The glint in Avery’s eyes resembled a blade catching the light. “Forgive me, but unless I am mistaken, you would be Hugh Davenport.”

Hugh jutted his chin out. He was posturing. Avery had a few inches on him in height, and it clearly bothered him almost as much as her interjection. “You have something to say about that?”

In his absence, Saga had nearly forgotten this side of him. She made a note to remember it any time she felt her heart ache.

“Volumes,” Avery breezed, her hands in her pockets as she stood to meet him, stopping roughly an arm’s length from him. One of his arms, not hers. “But for the sake of brevity, I will summarize: Friends, new or old, do not do what you did.”

Both the color and any remaining affability drained from Hugh’s face. “Who are you, exactly?”

“Detective Inspector Avery Hemlock.” Avery did not bother to show her ID but turned to Saga. “Do you need him removed?”

The changeling’s voice had been gentle, but something about the way she asked made Saga wonder if Avery meant to remove him from the café or from the mortal plane. “No,” Saga replied with a slow smile forming on her lips. “Thank you.”

“Fuzz paying so little you have to take a second job as security then?” Hugh sneered up at Avery. He had always been a bit of a snob, and Saga found herself feeling ashamed there had once been a time when that made her anxious to impress him.

“No,” Saga snapped at his unkindness. “Avery is my…” My? The word caught in her throat. While she did not intend to communicate possession, “my” felt audacious, and she regretted saying it. Her what? Her friend? Her colleague? Her unnaturally attractive neighbor who drew far too much of her attention whenever she was in the room? Avery was too clever and too beautiful to be her anything.

“Partner.” The word rolled off Avery’s tongue, ambiguous by definition but drenched in a tone of casual intimacy that implied a far different context than business.

Hugh looked like he’d been slapped, and Saga wished she’d actually done it.

“Yes.” Saga cleared her throat. Context aside, it wasn’t a lie. Despite how Saga felt she had no place in Avery’s world, the changeling had made it very clear she not only wanted her there, but saw them as equals.

“I didn’t realize you’d…”

“We didn’t feel the need to announce it in the post,” Avery offered indelicately.

Saga could feel her cheeks burning. The things Avery said so easily, so casually, and so coldly—the things she wished she could say but lost her nerve to do so.

“Ah, so you saw that,” said Hugh to Saga, acknowledging what Avery had said but not that she had been the one to say it.