Page 14

Aisling

I jolt upright as my alarm screams into the silence. I slap it off, accidentally causing my phone to fall to the floor with a dull thud.

Perfect.

Kicking the covers off, I drag myself out of bed, already regretting every life choice I’ve made that’s led me to working mornings. Still…the morning shifts have a steady flow, familiar faces, and a little chaos. But Gods, it doesn’t make waking up before the sun any less soul-crushing.

I go through the normal motions of getting ready for work. I brush my teeth, then throw on some black eyeliner and lipstick. Simple but a statement. The bruises Tyler left are still faint on my skin, so I dab on a bit of concealer and press in powder, like I’m painting over a crime scene.

After throwing on some fishnets, ripped boyfriend jeans, and my Potion Press tee, I wrangle my reddish black hair into a couple of braids. A pair of worn-in Doc Martens wait by the door, and I lace them up like armor.

My mini coffin purse holds my essentials, a weed vape, a nic vape, wallet, and keys. I double-check it’s there just out of habit before sliding my phone into my back pocket and stepping out.

The walk to The Potion Press is short, but it’s just long enough for my thoughts to drag me back to last night's dream. A smile crosses my lips, my cheeks growing hot as I recall the mess I made.

Stop it, A! Now is not the time.

I open the door to the shop and step inside. The smell of coffee and incense assaults my nose, easily triggering me to fall right into work mode.

“Good morningggg, A,” Ash’s singsong voice carries through the shop like a siren, always ready to bring men to their demise.

“Good morning, my love!” I reply cheerfully before making my way to her.

“Did night shift leave us high and dry this morning?” I raise my eyebrows at her questioningly.

Stepping behind the counter, I reach across her to grab my uniform, a black apron with a cauldron bubbling out coffee.

“Actually, I closed last night, so we should be all good,” she replies with a yawn, a tell-tale sign she was up playing video games again.

“Oh, you poor thing. I’ll get the espresso machine warmed up and make your favorite,” I respond, yawning myself.

“You too, babe?” Ash questions, looking me up and down. “You look like the walking dead,” she giggles .

“Wow, thanks,” I quip back, sticking my tongue out.

“Anytime, love,” she states before sashaying away.

What a drama queen.

I’ve known Ash since we were teenagers. She’s always had an affinity for anything weird and spooky. She’s been doing rituals for as long as I can remember, making deals with something far more powerful than herself.

That’s why she opened this shop to begin with. She was always convinced she could heal someone with divine powers from the universe or something like that. And this is a way for her to help teach others about that.

I smile to myself. She’s a piece of work, some would call her crazy, but I just call her my best friend.

We spend the next twenty minutes getting the shop ready to open. By seven, there’s already a line wrapped around the corner - an army of sleep-deprived souls desperate for their dirty bean water fix.

I focus on the coffee and pastry side of things, while Ash manages the mystics. An assortment of various crystals, oils, and herbs that we carry and their promises of healing or hexing.

It’s not long before the store falls back into its usual rhythm, a handful of customers trickling in every hour. I start prepping a fresh press of espresso, the steady hiss of the machine filling the silence, when the bell above the door chimes.

My eyes shoot up.

“Welcome in,” I say before spotting him.

The fucking guy that made me turn into a waterfall with a candlestick.

No. Fucking. Way.

My body moves before my brain can catch up, my knees slamming into the floor as my arms flail out, espresso powder flying in every direction.

Fuck.

I put my fingers to my forehead, letting out a slow breath as I survey the mess. When my gaze shifts to the counter, my breath catches. Two dark chocolate eyes are locked onto mine.

“You good down there?” he chuckles, leaning over the counter, assessing the damage he so obviously caused.

I stare up at him, brows furrowed.

“Yeah, all good. I just uh… I tripped on the mat, no biggie.” I try to brush it off casually, but I know he’s not falling for any of it.

“Mhmm, sure, got it. Do you need any help?” He looks between me and the layer of coffee grounds covering the counters and floor.

“No-no, I’m good, but thanks though,” I say as I rise to my feet. “What can I get you?”

“Well, I was gonna get some coffee, but I don’t think you have much left at the moment,” he says, eyeing the mess with a smirk.

“So I’ll take an almond croissant for myself, and one of those bacon croissant sandwiches for the drunkard at home,” he says with a grin, before handing me a twenty-dollar bill.

“Oh, you have a girlfriend,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

He bursts out into laughter, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin.

“More like an asshole brother who wakes me up at three am to spill the latest bar drama. But, yeah, pretty much the same thing.”

I giggle at that, grabbing his order from the pastry case and placing it carefully into a paper bag.

“Well, hopefully these help both of you,” I say, sliding the croissant toward him before turning to pop the sandwich in the mini oven.

I set the timer, and as the oven door closes, I catch his reflection in the glass, his gaze lingering on me.

He’s watching me again.

It’s that same look he gave me before he made me see the Gods last night. I swear I catch a flicker of recognition in his gaze, like he knows what I’m thinking.

The ding from the oven pulls me from my thoughts. I grab the tongs and slide the sandwich into a bag.

Turning around, I set the bag on the counter before giving him his total and cashing him out. He’s no longer looking at me like he wants to devour me, but I can still feel something lingering in the air.

He knows . He has to.