Page 49 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Spite & Spellwork

“I will not be accommodating you further,” Saga repeated with emphasis. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Avery move to sit back down.

Hugh hesitated. “What am I supposed to tell Lana?”

Saga’s eyes sharpened. What the hell was that supposed to mean? “Hugh,” she began carefully. “Does Lana not know you’re here?”

He blanched. “No, of course she knows, but if I have to come back…” The sound he uttered was somewhere between a pleading whimper and a growl. “Saga, it will make things so much harder for me—for work and at home.”

Was he serious? This was the same man who had just a few months ago left her at the altar in front of all of their friends and family; the same man who not three months later had gotten engaged to the woman he had left her for; the same man who had the audacity to announce that engagement in the most-circulated newspaper in the country. Was that man now honestly trying to guilt-trip her? “I don’t see how that’s my problem. You don’t want to come back? Good.” She gestured toward the exit. “Off you fuck, then.”

She pulled a tub from beneath the counter to bus the tables before the lunch rush. She couldn’t see Hugh’s dumbfounded expression, but she could imagine it. And it was glorious. What she could see as she turned was Avery’s small but approving smile, and it sent a thrill through her. Had she ever spoken to him like that? She picked up a cup and saucer. Yes. She remembered. When they first met, she’d called him on his behavior multiple times. She didn’t know where this fire in her had gone or how it had been snuffed out for so long, but she was grateful to feel it blazing within her now.

“Saga,” Hugh whispered, catching up with her at one of the tables.

Patrons were sneaking glances toward them now. Oh, he did hate a scene.

Hugh’s voice rasped in its desperation to lower to something only she could hear. “Please, I am begging you. One conversation.”

Saga, on the other hand, had no issue speaking at a regular volume. She was not the asshole harassing someone at their workplace here. “You know, it’s funny how they say beggars can’t be choosers, yet here you are, trying to bully me into changing my schedule for your agenda.”

He sighed, defeated. “You’re right.”

Hearing him concede took her off guard, and for a moment that fire in her wavered. She fought the urge to crumple, to comfort. She didn’t trust herself to speak, so she didn’t.

“I will make Thursday work,” said Hugh. “Can you meet me at eight p.m. at the Savoy for drinks?”

Saga hesitated. She loved the Savoy. The Time Machine, named specifically for H. G. Wells, had been one of her favorite bars. Not a tavern, not a pub, but a real high-class bar. The art deco design, the literary history, and the exquisite cocktails had always given the place a romantic atmosphere. It was the place of more than one date night in their shared history, and at least two anniversaries. It was not the sort of place one went to have a postmortem on their relationship.

“Please, Saga,” said Hugh, still attempting discretion. “I’ll pay. You don’t have to say anything, just give me one hour of your time to hear me out.”

Saga did not need him to pay for anything. Between her inheritance from her grandmother, and the inheritance Eira had left her grandmother that was subsequently passed on to her, her mother, and Leigh… Saga probably wouldn’t need anyone to pay for anything for quite some time. But the idea that he might be attempting to make some sort of penance… “Fine. Thursday. Eight p.m. At the Time Machine.”

“Thank you.”

“Get out.” She moved on to the next table to bus and was relieved he did not follow her farther. When she returned to her place behind the counter, she saw Avery’s plate of food waiting in the window, so she delivered it immediately.

“Well done,” said Avery, still smiling at her.

Saga held a hand over her heart—it was still racing. “I did concede to meet him, but it was on my timetable.”

“I think that’s admirable you’re willing to hear him out.”

“I don’t want to hold a grudge.” Or at the very least, Saga wanted to let go of any lingering desire to see him equally humiliated so Iona’s card for Reprise would stop calling to her. “Maybe it will help clear the air between us.”

“I doubt it,” Avery commented. “In just our brief encounter he managed to deflect any hint of responsibility for his actions.”

“Were you going to hit him?”

“It wasn’t my intention.” Avery shrugged and took a bite of her breakfast.

“Then why did you remove your scarf?”

“Because when dealing with the sort of man who is looking to start a fight, it is wise to not approach him wearing a garrote.”

Chapter 12 Avery

“I meant to tell you, but the arrival of the pigeon-livered clodpate put me out of mind. Lahiri got the warrant for Luna’s house, so we’ll stop by there first,” said Avery as they descended into the Baker Street Station.

“Clodpate?” Saga echoed.