Page 11 of Bewitched & Bewildered (Witches of Starbrook #1)

Chapter 11

Juniper

As much as I want to hide from the world, I must return to the shop. None of my sisters have answers or ideas. I know the problem now, but that only makes it more frustrating.

At least the shop isn’t completely dead today. It’s almost time to close, and a longtime patron, Emily, is ambling around.

“You make these potions yourself?” she asks.

“I do.”

“And your mom taught you that?”

“Of course.” My throat tightens, but I force on a smile. “She taught me everything I know.”

“She was a good witch.”

“Oh, I know.”

“Do you have anything to help with my cat’s appetite?”

“Your cat…” I blink. “Have you tried a vet?”

She grunts. “They said there was nothing wrong with her.”

I hum, looking over the potions in the case. “I can make you a custom potion. How are her energy levels?”

“Not the best.”

“Addressing that may help with the appetite.” I fix her with a stern look. “Make sure you keep taking her to the vet. Mundane comes before magic.”

She chuckles. “Can’t believe little Juni is lecturing me about magical practices…”

Internally, I wince. This is precisely what Ozan was talking about. People in town don’t take me seriously. At best, they compare me to my mom. At worst… they infantilize me.

“You’d better believe it.” My smile strains. “Would you like the custom potion? It will take a few days.”

Her nails tap against the table. “I’ll take it!”

Things are looking up. The business isn’t a complete failure.

It’s still not enough. That’s the problem. Something is missing. The others don’t feel it, but I do. There’s a hole in my chest, and I don’t know how to fill it.

Is there something wrong with the business, or is it me?

The shop isn’t making me happy, but I can’t stop trying. All I do is try. I stay an hour after closing to work on the commissioned potion.

By the time I brave the autumn chill, I’m weary. My jacket will keep me warm, but I still shudder as I stroll down the dark, empty streets. Walking to work seemed like a good idea in the bright morning light, but now I yearn for bed.

There are only a few things that could make my walk worse, and thing number one is right in front of me.

Ozan. He probably isn’t aware of my presence. I’m too aware of his. He’s everywhere.

It would be easy to stay behind him, even if it becomes evident we’re heading in the same direction. He has long legs, doesn’t he? That means he should move faster. He doesn’t, though, and I’m caught up with him before I know what’s happening.

Ozan looks too pleased as I approach.

“Evening.” His dimples show under the scruff of his beard. He looks at me from the corner of his eye.

“Do you usually walk home?” I ask, skipping the pleasantries. “I never see you out here.”

“No.” He yawns. “I live above the shop. No walking necessary.”

“Must be nice.” I hesitate. “Where are you going?”

The last thing I want is to seem too interested in his whereabouts, but I am. There’s a chance he’s walking for his health, but at this time of night, I doubt it.

“My parent’s place,” he says.

That makes sense. They live just down the street from our family home. Sadly, that means I’ll have to spend the entire walk with him.

“I guess we can walk together…”

“You don’t sound enthused.” He snickers.

“I’m not, but…” I look up at the moon, shrugging. “It’s a full moon. That makes it a good night to stay in groups.”

Humans have a myth that the full moon brings chaos, but it’s more than a myth—it’s true. The energy of the full moon is bright and chaotic. Any witch can feel it.

Under the right circumstances, it can make for favorable ceremonies, but it can also reveal our world’s evil underbelly. I shouldn’t be walking alone.

“I’m glad you’re finally seeing sense,” he says.

I narrow my eyes. “What does that mean?”

“This is the first time you’re not running away from me.”

“You sound too pleased about it.”

“I am. ”

His honesty catches me off guard. I look ahead. Heat rises to my cheeks, and—for some reason—I’m fighting off a smile.

“If you wanted my attention so badly, you should have said so,” I say. “I do charity work from time to time.”

“Wow.” he chuckles. “Didn’t know you were so generous.”

Having someone to walk with doesn’t fix any of my problems, but I feel better with Ozan under the full moon’s light.

I can’t put my finger on why.

“Where have you been, anyway?” I ask.

“What?” He lets out a puff of laughter. “Have you been waiting for me to visit?”

“No!” I glare at him. “Before coming back to Starbrook, I mean. I know you were in Boston, but…?”

“It sounds like you have the answer to your question. I was indeed in Boston.”

“You’re not mysterious, Ozan. Stop trying to be. You know what I’m asking. What were you doing in Boston?”

The last I heard, he was there with someone, but I haven’t seen any sign of him having a partner. His walking alone adds to the piling evidence that he’s single.

“I was working at Knox Media…”

There’s hesitation. Why?

“I’ve heard of the company. And…?” I press.

“And living with my wife.”

I stop in my tracks. I knew he had a girlfriend, but a wife ? When did that happen? Where is she now? He talks about her like they’re still together. My heart clenches.

“And my familiars, of course,” he says, not stopping. “The bun—you saw her—and I have a cat too. I don’t know if you’ve met him, but you should. He’s delightfully mischievous.”

I tug at his sleeve, forcing him to stop. “Don’t distract me with cute animals! Where is your wife? She can’t be hiding in your little apartment.”

Why do I feel weird asking about her?

“Well…” His lips twist. “She’s not exactly my wife anymore.”

My hand drops. “Oh.”

He juts his chin forward, taking a step away. “C’mon. Don’t be weird about it.”

For some reason, I listen to him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

He waves a hand. “It’s fine. It was a year ago.”

“A year isn’t that long,” I say. “A year ago, I was… still working at a bar.”

He lifts a brow.” “Oh yeah? Did you like it?”

“Kind of. I wanted to be a bartender. I like the mixology part of the job. There are a lot of unique drinks you can make, you know. It’s almost like mixing a potion.”

“Why didn’t you pursue it? You would have been good.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I have a feeling.”

“I don’t know what happened,” I say. “I never stayed in one place long enough to learn or move up. Eventually, I forgot about it. This is my first time thinking about it in a while.”

I’ve spent so much time stopping myself from doing anything. Being a bartender feels like a small goal to some, and that’s what stopped me. It never felt like enough.

Ozan opened up to me about his wife. I’m trying to open up, but I can’t admit that last part out loud. He wouldn’t understand.

For a few moments, all I hear is the crunch of our footsteps.

“It’s not too late,” he says.

“It is. I’m running the shop now.”

“And that makes you happy?”

“I don’t know.” I let out a long, slow sigh. “The last time I was happy was before my mom died. I can’t expect anything to make me happy—not even her shop and...” I stop myself, glaring at him. “Why am I talking to you about this?”

He lets out a carefree laugh. “I honestly don’t know.”

“This is the second time!”

“It is. Don’t get me wrong; I’m honored…but as confused as you are.”

“It was the divorce talk,” I say. “It makes you more relatable.”

“Yikes.”

“Sorry.”

“It is what it is.” He shrugs. “If you tried harder, you would have found me relatable before.”

“Oh yeah? Did you want to be a bartender too?”

“No,” he says, “but I struggled to find something that makes me happy.”

“Is that why…”

I stop myself. I can’t ask why he left his wife or even assume he was the one to leave her .

He shakes his head and offers no more. If I ask for more information, I’ll become one of the gossips in Starbrook.

“Does your shop make you happy?” I ask instead.

It’s a concept I can’t wrap my head around. Maple’s work makes her happy, even if it’s stressful and draining. Rowan enjoys what she does, and she’s good at it. Laurel is finding joy in her tarot readings .

When will I find something like that?

“So far?” he shrugs. “It does. I’ve worked in business for almost a decade, but never for something I built from the ground up. It’s different.”

“Maybe that’s what I’m missing.” I smile wryly.

“Maybe. But there’s still time to make it your own—like we discussed last time.”

“I can’t obliterate everything she built. I won’t give up on it yet.”

“You don’t have to give up on it. Just add a little you in it. Your mom loved you; she would love for you to make your mark on the old place.”

We stop in front of my home. Our eyes meet, and my heart races, as if wishing to run from the conversation.

“Ozan…” I swallow thickly. “I never know what you’re talking about.”

“That’s fine.” He chuckles. “I don’t know either.”

I lift a shoulder and turn away. “Get home safe. Watch out for wolves.”

“You too.”

When I reach the front door, a turn of my head tells me he’s still standing there. In the moonlight, Ozan doesn’t look so bad. A flickering streetlight shines onto his face.

He lifts a hand. I lift one back. He leaves.

It’s nothing—but it’s more than I’ve done in months. He’s the first person I talked to my mother about. Maybe that’s why my heart aches when I watch him leave.

OZAN

I was looking forward to dinner with my parents—until I ran into Juniper. It’s not her fault, but bringing Vanessa up is a surefire way to kill my mood.

Someday, I will be able to talk about her without my energy taking a nosedive. Today is not that day.

My family's home is a time capsule. Pictures of me with braces and in sports gear still hang in the hallways, and my mother hasn’t redecorated since the 90s. The floor is still a godsawful blue tile.

But it’s home.

I inhale deeply as I follow my mother into the kitchen. “Did you make bread?”

“I did—and an extra loaf for you to take home.”

“Perfect. I bought a loaf from Greene’s the other day, but?—”

“Oh, you can stick that one in the freezer. Take it out again when you need more bread. You can never have enough bread.”

I spent years living on my own, but my mother still treats me like I just moved out. Not that I’m complaining. Some people don’t have the nurturing my ma tries to offer me.

“I’ll be sure to do that,” I say.

She shuffles to the kitchen, where my father is already waiting.

“I hope I’m not late.” I settle into my usual seat.

Our kitchen table is the same round table that’s been here since I was a kid. It wobbles slightly, but not enough for my father to fix it.

If they let me, I’ll do the job before I leave for the night .

“You’re right on time.” She scoops a heaping spoon of mashed potatoes onto my plate.

“You’re late by my measure,” my dad grumbles. I know it’s playful. “I’ve been waiting to eat.”

“You’ve been waiting five minutes!” my mother says. “And you’ll be grateful for it later. You were going to burn your mouth, mark my words.”

Soon, my plate is full of breaded chicken, steamed vegetables, and more potatoes than any man can eat alone. I’ll do my best to gobble it all up. It makes my mom happy when I do.

“How’s the shop?” my dad asks. “There’s a huge crowd every time I pass by.”

“That means it’s going well,” my mom says.

“It is,” I say. “I never thought I would be this successful, but…”

“We told you!” My mother beams. “You can thank me for the million-dollar business idea.”

“Okay, I don’t know about a million dollars…” I chuckle.

“People need their stuff,” my dad says.

“Right.” I hesitate, cutting off a piece of chicken. “Did you know Mrs. Hawthorne passed? That’s why the old apothecary shut down.”

My parents exchange a look.

“You know,” my mother says, “I heard about that.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me before I opened the apothecary?” I frown. “That would have been helpful.”

“It slipped my mind,” she says. “You know how it is. Something is big news one day, and something else comes along the next.”

Someone dying isn’t gossip. It isn’t something anyone should forget about when the next ‘thing’ comes along. I grind my teeth .

I let the conversation drop, popping the rosemary chicken into my mouth.

“Everyone is asking about Vanessa,” my dad says.

I freeze. “What?”

My mother cuts my father a withering look.

“For the holidays,” he says. “They want to know if they should bring gifts for her. What should I tell them?”

I shake my head. “You should tell them she’s not coming. We’re divorced. They’re going to find out, eventually.”

“Right, right…” my father mumbles. “I wasn’t sure if you got it figured out.”

“It’s not something we can figure out,” I say. “Our marriage is over. It’s legally binding—or legally unbound, I guess. That’s as official as it gets.”

“We know, honey!” my mother says warmly. “We want you to be happy. All the questions at the solstice celebration…we don’t want them to get to you.”

“I’ll answer them,” I say. “I’m a big boy.”

“Are you sure?” She looks down at her plate. “We can tell them not to bother you with it. Or you can take Vanessa—just for this year.”

“Ma!” I laugh. “No way. That’s not happening. Don’t do that. I’m fine with it, all right? I’m happy.”

But I don’t know how fine it will be when I’m there. Talking about her here—with my parents, with Juniper—it’s already pushing me into the dumps. How will it feel when my nosy aunts are pressing for details?

In the end, I can’t finish the mountain of potatoes on my plate.