Page 1 of Bewitched & Bewildered (Witches of Starbrook #1)

Chapter 1

Juniper

“I’m sorry.” I smile through my teeth. “Our cooks are busy at work making sure your burger is as fresh as can be. It will take a little longer, but I’ll get it right out to you.”

The usual customer service answer should be enough to appease them, but some patrons aren’t as easy. Most would be happy to have two cold beers in front of them. Not these two.

“We wanted the food to come out with the drinks.” The woman crosses her arms.

“You should have requested that.” It’s getting harder to hold my smile. “But even if you did, that won’t make your burgers ready any faster. Other people have been waiting longer than you.”

“That doesn’t make you sound any better.” The man scoffs.

“I’m not the one cooking!” This is why I’m terrible at this job.

When I tell people I hate what I do, I mean it. There’s never been a job I liked, and that is saying something. I’ve been everything under the sun: office worker, server, barista, bookshop employee. If you name it, I’ve tried it.

My most recent place of employment is at a bar thirty minutes outside my small town. The hope is to learn about mixing drinks, which fits better with my specialty as a witch. I’m a potion maker. Making cocktails will be easy in comparison.

Somehow, I’m always stuck on serving duty instead.

The commute isn’t so bad. Working in a larger city comes with perks—like bigger tips. It doesn’t come with better people. Case in point: the couple at my table. According to their IDs, they’re in their mid-twenties, but some people never grow up. These two are perfect examples of that.

I’m no better, considering I’m stooping to their level.

The woman twists in her seat, and the man fixes me with a flat expression.

“How much longer is this going to take?” he asks.

It’s Friday night. Not only is this our busiest night of the week, but it’s the busiest night for any bar. That feels like common sense, but judging by their rude stares, it must not be.

The Ace is a typical sports bar. There’s some game or another blaring on the television, and jerseys for teams I don’t know hang on the walls. Maine isn’t well-known for excelling in sports, so we borrow from New York and Massachusetts.

The rivaling teams can bring some tension, but I have no stake in the arguments. I’m just here for a paycheck.

I’m the only goth in the sports bar, and, of course, I stick out like a sore thumb. What I need is a new job. Between customers like this and the matching jersey I’m forced to wear, this job is suffocating me .

Bringing orders, counting my tips, and even making small talk—those things are all more than doable. I would even go as far as to say I like most of our regulars.

Other parts of the gig don’t come naturally to me. Talking to people like this and dealing with drunk patrons…

That makes the job a living hell.

“I don’t know why you’re being so rude,” she says. “We’re not doing anything wrong!”

I inhale slowly. “You’re right, and I don’t mean to be rude. I’m trying to explain the delay. You’re welcome.”

The man slams his hands on the table, loud enough to be heard around the bustling bar. “So, you admit there’s a delay?”

I cringe.

“Jerry!” The woman grimaces at her boyfriend.

“What?” he says. “I just want my burger.”

“It will be ready in ten minutes.” I hope. “I’ll get it out to you as soon as possible.”

“No way,” he says. “It doesn’t take ten minutes to make a burger.”

I shake my head, unsure if I heard him right. What, does this guy eat his burgers raw ? More importantly, does he not understand that we have other customers?

“Actually—” I start.

“Did you forget to put in our order?” His words hold a heavy accusation. “Why are you so incompetent?”

In a snap, my patience dissolves. My eye twitches. I clutch my pen hard enough that my knuckles turn white.

“You know what?” I let out a dry laugh. “I don’t have an answer to that question, but it brings up a question of my own. You’re only on your second drink. Why are you so belligerent?”

They blink at me for several excruciating moments.

I can’t take the words back. Rage pulses through me, and I don’t want to.

“I didn’t want to say this”—the woman shakes her head, looking like a disappointed mother—“but I need to talk to your manager. Now .”

This isn’t the first time I've heard those words. The managing team is good at advocating for me; they usually take my side…

That may not be the case this time.

A fellow server stops by the table, donning a confused smile. “How are we doing over here?”

Great. It’s Sarah.

I couldn’t pick her out of a crowd if I wanted to, and I really don’t want to. She was hired a month before me, but with the broom up her ass, you would think she’s been working here twice as long.

I know what to say—everything is fine, and they’re wondering how much longer their food will take. I can even lie and say I’m about to check on their meals.

The words won’t come out.

“We have a couple of insufferable customers,” I say before I can stop myself. “That’s what’s happening.”

There are worse things I want to call them, but I still have some refrain.

Sarah’s jaw drops. “Oh, I’m sure that’s not…”

“We need to talk to your boss!” Jerry stands up as if he means to look for the manager himself. “ Now .”

It seems my serving career is about to be cut short.

OZAN

It’s time to say goodbye to Boston.

I glance out the window, admiring the view of the darkened city. When I first moved here, I thought it was the most beautiful view in the city.

Now, it makes my stomach curdle. Boston, you will not be missed.

I was eighteen years old when I moved here for college. It was the perfect place for a witch like me—with a big witch community and a larger population overall. I got to spread my wings.

The location wasn’t what kept me here after graduation. It was the people. More specifically, it was one person.

I met the love of my life in college… or so I thought.

We shared a life and home for a decade. She was my first love, and when I got down on one knee, I swore she would be the last. We moved into our gorgeous home—a quaint place with a ton of history behind it. We shared a cat. That’s sacred among witches.

None of it mattered. Our bond wasn’t strong enough to withstand. Or maybe it would have been if she hadn’t started sleeping with my best friend. I still don’t know which of them hurt me more.

They both betrayed me.

At least my friend, Otis, doesn’t have the nerve to show up today. I’m here to pick up the last of my things, and I was hoping to do it alone. My ex being here is a jump scare—but of course, she can’t give me this one moment of peace.

Vanessa and I are in our newly abandoned home. When we moved in, we made it ours . I had my jarred herbs and charmed trinkets, and she had her crafting table. It was my home for nearly a decade. She was my home .

It’s empty now, and so are her dark eyes. The last boxes are in my truck, waiting to follow me home.

“I guess this is goodbye,” Vanessa says.

She doesn’t have a right to cry—or maybe she does, but she shouldn’t do it in front of me . A tear rolls down her cheek.

My jaw tenses as I look away.

Vanessa has always been beautiful, with chocolate brown hair and a statuesque figure, but her beauty doesn’t strike me like it used to. Her tears bring up frustration in me, not sorrow. There was a time when I couldn’t see her eyes water without crying myself. Times change. The old urge to cradle her and tell her everything will be okay is gone.

It’s not okay. Nothing is. She may have lied to me, but I won’t do the same to her.

“Yup,” I say. “Don’t worry. You won’t be seeing me again.”

“Don’t say that.”

Isn’t that what she wanted? You don’t end a relationship this way without knowing it’s final. We can’t be friends. It won’t be an easy breakup. Not for me.

“It’s true,” I say. “This is how it’s supposed to be.”

We met in college, and even though I had a group of friends, she became my comfort person in a new city. We were friends for years before she kissed me, waking me from the bumbling stupor I was stuck in.

That kiss made me realize there was something more, and when I did, my heart opened. The rest of our life began—or so I thought.

Vanessa and I had a lot in common, but we’ve always had some differences. The main one is the most obvious. I’m a witch, and she’s… well, she’s not. She’s a human. That wa sn’t what got between us.

I don’t know what I did. Sure, she cheated, but I still don’t understand what drove her to that.

Maybe it’s not for me to understand. I spent long enough blaming myself. It’s time to move on.

“Right…” Her voice is small. “You’ll drive safely, won’t you?”

I can’t feel bad for her. Vanessa has friends and family. Other people can help her through the breakup. I can’t be one of them, and she can’t be the one for me.

She can’t know I’ve spent every day of the last year alone, trapped in my shoebox apartment. I’ll never tell her about the nights I spent crying over her. Now, a year later, I’m ready to let her go. The papers are finalized. All I have to do is get in my truck and go.

“I’ll do my best.” I take a step back, eager to leave.

My last words should be more poetic. There’s more I want to say. Does she regret anything? Will she miss me? Where did we go wrong? We’ve rehashed the conversation a thousand times. It’s not worth it anymore.

It’s time to let her go. If I hang on much longer, I’ll have rope burn.

“Ozan…”

I pause with my hand on the doorknob. “Yeah?”

“You were a good husband.”

I flinch. “Don’t…”

It’s not like I can return the compliment. While parts of our relationship were good, I don’t want to dwell on them any longer. That will make me miss her again.

I open the door, and a burst of cool wind flows in.

“If you need anything…you know where to find me,” she murmurs .

I know, but I won’t.

She tore our relationship apart, and I won’t be the one to fix it. If she wants anything from me—closure or something else—she’ll have to reach out to me.

It won’t be me. I’ve done enough for this relationship.

“You know where to find me .” I duck my head as I leave through the small doorway.

It’s practically a habit to make sure I don’t bang my head on it, but it serves as a reminder, too. This place is too small for me. Most places are, considering my height, but this home is in more ways than one.

Technically, where I’m going next is smaller, but it’s exactly what I need.

I’m going home… back to Starbrook.