Page 12 of Hopelessly Teavoted
Business was picking up.
She tried to reassure herself that it was good news, both to keep the store afloat and to keep her distracted from thinking about how badly she missed the idea of maybe one day working it out with Azrael.
How much she had been lying to herself for years now, shoving away the memories of dancing in his bedroom to her favorite music as a kid, the occasionally haunted armchair rocking back and forth along with her.
How she had pictured, even then, what it would be like, to live in Hart Manor with him. Embraced by his family and his house, where she felt much more alive and welcome than next door in her parents’ cold, modern monstrosity.
How she had loved Benedict and Persephone, and how they had been so much warmer than her own parents, despite what the town often said about their macabre and morbid ways.
There was love, real love, in Hart Manor, in the very beams of the house, which creaked and yawned and lived with the family that loved there.
It had always been her and Azrael, and Vickie had told herself for too long that they were just friends.
And now, when he was back in front of her, she remembered how hard it was to be just friends with him.
She saw his tentative smile and curly hair, and felt the same way she felt walking into Hopelessly Teavoted.
Like she was home. Seeing Azrael felt like really, truly coming home.
“He likes you, you know,” Hazel whispered conspiratorially, running a finger over her pink hair.
Vickie rolled her eyes. She loved Hazel, but her teenage insight was failing her in this moment. Azrael sat there, shifting his coffee cup from hand to hand. The way Vickie clutched the tray of donuts she was putting away had nothing to do with her feelings for Azrael. Not a thing.
“He—no, he’s my old neighbor. We had a weird moment once in college, but trust me, it ended badly enough to avoid. You’ll get it when you’re older. Some people seem like a great idea on paper but just never really click in reality.”
Hazel smirked. “I knew it. You totally love him. Oh my god, and look at him just sitting there for this long. He totally loves you too.”
“Hazel. He will hear you.”
Vickie really didn’t know why the idea of Hazel thinking Az liked her bothered her so much.
Maybe because she knew how far it was from the truth.
It had been so many years since he had walked out of her dorm after the rain, his wet shoes and clothes pooling tears of regret on the linoleum floor behind him.
The remaining dampness had soaked into the fancy striped throw rug her parents had bought for the room after scoffing at what they considered to be slumming it in the dormitories.
Freedom was what she had called it. Freedom to make her own choices, like the disastrous one she made with Azrael her sophomore year.
It had been a disappointment then, but she was old enough now to know that this was not unusual for matters of the heart.
People either disappointed you or they didn’t, and she wasn’t going to let Azrael Hart’s rejection six years ago drag her down.
She’d had plenty of great sex and even a sort of love with Robbie in between.
Clingy , both he and Natalie had called her.
But neither of those relationships defined her.
If Robbie breaking up with her hadn’t been devastating, Azrael’s behavior after one brief lapse in judgment shouldn’t be either after all this time.
Vickie returned to the pastries and checked her watch.
People were starting to leave, the little set of skull bells jingling pleasantly with each departure.
She smiled, thinking of Persephone Hart and how people so often misjudged her because she looked the part of a gothic vampire in a house guarded by wicked iron spikes.
It had always struck her as ironic that the tidy white colonial mansion with its pristine blue shutters was inhabited by her awful, calculating parents, and the haunted, perpetually foggy grounds of Hart Manor hosted so much earnest affection.
In the corner, even Hank was starting to finish his crossword and his muffin.
From across the room, Vickie saw that asshole regular who always gave Hazel grief.
He was eyeing Hank. Chet something. He was a teacher at Hallowcross High, too, and Hazel had told her he was famous for making a student and her parent cry at a back-to-school night once.
Vickie glared at him, daring him to try anything in her shop.
He made eye contact and raised his eyes suggestively, of all things.
With a flourish, Vickie walked over to the Hex Bigotry, Witches sign that hung over the wall display of stickers with the same slogan, and adjusted it, giving him a pointed look.
He rolled his eyes and returned to his coffee and pretentious reading selection.
Hank, walking over, presumably to use the restroom, but also quite possibly simply to gossip, stopped at the counter.
“He’s been reading that same page of Moby Dick for thirty minutes, and I saw him open it to a random place when he got here.” Hank smiled at her knowingly, leaning in.
“I guess the whale isn’t the only dick in that book,” he said, chuckling with glee, and made his way to the bathroom.
Vickie was feeling cross this morning, but in her defense, she had seen Chet do the same thing with Oliver Twist the last time he was in here. It seemed that there was no limit to the dickish behavior of this particular customer.
Something nagged at the corner of her mind as she watched him, the cruel set of his mouth souring a face that might otherwise be nice to look at.
Vickie almost took her phone out to text Azrael, who would have appreciated Hank’s joke. But that was silly, to text him from across the room, like they were in high school again. And besides, he was snapping under the table, doing some sort of magic. Better not to disturb him.
She looked up, surprised to see that despite the late hour, a line had formed, and soon she was ringing up people and handing out coffee cups and muffins and filling carafes with iced coffee and juices so quickly that an hour flew by.
The next thing she knew, Hazel was next to her, taking orders and making things move twice as fast. During a brief lull, they switched places, and then it was Vickie serving muffins and walking around to refill sugar packets and creamers.
They rarely did this kind of business so close to closing.
She checked the coffee makers, trying not to look at Az too much. When her wandering eyes did land on him, he was looking anywhere but at her. The last of the customers trickled out, and when Hank left, Vickie took the carafes to the sink in the back.
Azrael must have still been wary of Sultry Sunday attire.
Persephone and Benedict had been so comfortable with who they were.
Witchy and weird and sexy. So openly in love with each other that he called her “my darling” and she called him “handsome” in casual conversation.
So obviously attracted to each other and so handsy in public that people in town had speculated that the Harts had some sort of kinky sex dungeon.
Which they definitely did; she and Az had awkwardly stumbled upon it once as teenagers, empty of any witchy or human occupants at the time of their discovery, thank goddess.
But the chains and toys had been exciting nonetheless, and had led to a tensely whispered conversation about the benefits and drawbacks of spanking and whips afterward, and some feelings that she had not yet understood at thirteen.
She tried not to remember those particular thoughts as she scrubbed out the coffeepots, rinsing them and setting them to dry before returning to the front, where Hazel was packing up the remaining pastries to take home.
Azrael still sat at the same table, of course, looking half-miserable and half-eager. So different from Persephone’s certainty, though Vickie remembered her telling them as teenagers that she, too, had struggled once to figure her life out.
Now that the shop was empty, Hazel was raising her eyebrows and clearing her throat while leaning her head so far over that it looked like she could be auditioning for a role in The Exorcist .
“I’ll leave you two alone, then,” the girl announced almost in a yell, and Vickie winced. There was no way Azrael hadn’t heard. Or seen the overly enthusiastic gestures.
“Yes, thank you, Hazel. See you tomorrow night.” She took off her apron, hanging it on the hook, adjusting her robe, and trying not to check to see if Azrael’s eyes followed. She forced herself to wave and smile at her lone employee instead of looking at her former friend.
“Have fun, boss.” Hazel winked, and Azrael looked at the ground.
Like he probably wanted to melt into it.
Like the idea of any extracurricular fun with her, even now, was a burden too great to risk looking her in the eyes for.
Goddess, how she had missed those hazel eyes.
She thought that maybe his face was a little bit flushed.
This made her smile; after all this time, he was still uptight about lingerie.
But now Vickie was staring, and Az would think she had been sitting around moping after him. He probably had some beautiful person back in California that he pined for. With very tasteful, full-coverage underthings. Probably still silky and sexy as hell, but, like, demure and shit.
“You want to wait until I’m done cleaning and prepping in the back?
” she offered. The only way out of this awkwardness was through it, and she was determined to stick to her normal routine for both her depleting bank account and hopeful business sense.
But it didn’t seem right to make him work for free in his dead mom’s shop when he had come here to talk.
“I’ll help,” he said. “I missed it here, anyway. It’s been too long since—”