Page 3 of Of Poison & Pumpkins (Of Witches & Men #3)

CHAPTER TWO

Elias

I have to admit, Oakmar is a breath of fresh air.

I bet these cobblestone streets hold centuries of secrets.

Tall oak trees stand along the sidewalk like lollipops outside each shop on Blake Street, the most touristy part of this quaint town, which resembles Salem a bit in its Gothic revival architecture.

With the stone exteriors, tall towers, pointed arched doorways and windows, the buildings belong in a movie.

And don’t even get me started on the energy infused in the air.

The city even sounds like whimsical magic is hidden within the muffled conversations.

I dip inside my shop, allowing the strong pumpkin scent to soothe me, reminding me of Grandpa’s farm, then flick the light off that was illuminating the Peculiar Pumpkins sign.

On a night like this, when the dim, full moon rises with the promise of good fortune, I cling to my biggest dream—to take Rynn on a date. I could write a novel about that woman. She’s so determined, self-reliant, and assertive. Plus, she looks even better now than her teenage-self.

In high school, I was always too scared to confess my feelings. Then I’d foolishly wasted away my twenties chasing after fleeting women. While earning a marketing degree, dating, and traveling the world, Rynn had always held space in the back of my mind, like a flame I couldn’t ever extinguish.

I mean, balderdashin fugnuggets, is it just me or is she even more gorgeous than I had remembered?

Her freckles will be the death of me. And I want my hands lost in her long hair.

Silky locks twisted into a variety of tight and loose braids, weaved together like one of her knitting projects … irresistible!

Yes, I’ve done some necessary social media snooping.

Seen her posts featuring handmade coasters, blankets, sweaters, scarves, and dishcloths—none of which are purple.

Does she love or hate the color that invades her store?

In high school, I remember her favorite color was black.

How much has she changed? Unfortunately, our reunion didn’t go as planned.

I had half-a-hope that she’d be glad to see me … jokes on me.

On the tallest shelf, I straighten the pumpkin shaped mugs, then move on to the next section—pet equipment consisting of leashes, collars, cat bowls, and treat bins all decorated with pumpkins.

All this is thanks to Grandpa’s pumpkin farm. When he died last year, he left money in his will, but I’m not allowed to join the family business until I prove myself financially with the inheritance—thus: my Peculiar Pumpkin store.

When someone told me that my biggest competition would be a shop that sells only purple products, I had laughed out loud. Now, I can see it’s no joke. Customers had revolved in and out of Palooza’s all day like it was an ice cream shop giving out free scoops.

A scratching sound comes from the back office, and I follow the noise into the shadows. “Zanther?” I call out, peeking around the corner. “Zanther? You still here, man?”

I wait for my brother to jump out and try to scare me, which would be hard since he’s taller than a lamppost and more solid than a statue. Though he’s years younger, he has the strength to wrestle me into submission at his whim.

Another soft scratch comes from behind the closet door. I yank it open, ready to block his playful punch, but instead Goosie springs out meowing like a lunatic. His fluffy orange tail whips against me in resentment until he begs to be lifted to my chest.

“What were you doing in there, bud? You get stuck?” He presses a paw against my cheek and starts kneading biscuits directly on my face. His motor is louder than a machine, possessing me with a purring drug so I can’t help but scratch his fur.

I wrap Goosie behind my neck, where he casually drapes himself like a scarf.

Balancing him on my shoulders, I head to my room in the back, furnished with an extravagant cot, broken lamp, tiny fridge, old microwave, and a cracked trash bin.

And let’s not forget the box of bathroom necessities I carry to and from the employee restroom to get ready before work.

At this rate, I’d win gold in an Olympic event of showering in the sink. Ah, the life of luxury.

“Eli?” My brother’s voice, deeper than mine, booms down the hall. “You eat yet? I’m getting pizza unless you’ll finally let me cook Goosie.”

I round the corner and almost smack straight into the goliath man. His sheer size was passed down from his father, but we share our mom’s darker eyes and hair. I may always be jealous that the lucky bastard’s skin glows more golden than a tanned demigod.

“Did you already warm up leftovers?” He glares at my cat, still wrapped around my neck. “Or is it finally time to eat Goosie?”

“You can’t eat your little brother.” I let his tail flip onto my lip.

“Bull shit. This little demon oozes through the cracks into the underworld each night and feasts on murderous souls.” Zanther opens my fridge. “What you got in here?”

“Oh, last night I got a fresh delivery of caviar, in case you’d stop by. I always need enough to feed a giant, or a pack of wild wolves … same thing I guess. Of course I got your favorite beer and?—”

He slams it shut. “Cheese is the only thing in there.”

“Guess you’re buying me pizza.” I form the perfect bridge with my arm for Goosie to walk onto Zanther’s shoulder.

At first, Zanther freezes, like he is trapped in ice.

Then he squeals, flails his limbs in all directions like a madman, and sends Goosie soaring through the air.

The cat’s poor meows echo louder than my brother’s screams. Once they separate to the opposite sides of my room, I bend over in explosive laughter.

The look on Zanther’s face is the epitome of sheer horror; even his throat bobs as he plasters himself against the stone wall.

“Not funny! Get that thing out of here.”

“He’s an innocent sweetheart, Zee. How can you not love his little fluffy face?” My voice rises to the always-annoying yet undeniably required baby-talk. “Don’t you have the cutest little nose, my Goosie boy?”

He rubs against me and does a figure-eight between my ankles. With a hand still clutching his heart, Zanther backs into the hallway, but not before his gaze dips to my cot.

“Remember, you only have one more week until I’m forcing you to move in with me.”

“Two,” I counter. “Wait until Halloween.”

Zanther shakes his head then ducks around the corner. “Fine, now let’s go before I spear your cat.” He clinks silverware together in the distance and I follow his racket. “I still think you’re crazy for opening this shop.”

“You’ve only mentioned it two thousand times.”

“Well, someone’s gotta knock sense into—” Zanther drops something, and it clatters to the floor.

“Whoops. Listen Eli, your dad isn’t coming back.

Whether or not he sees your shop going viral, Noah is not gonna magically show back up in your life.

So, you may as well get that wholesome idea out of your head. ”

“My dad will come. Trust me. When I win the award, he’ll show.”

Once I beat the other shops in the competition, then all news and local businesses will blast my social media account. Every year the winner announced goes viral. In 2023, a bakery won, and a streaming service picked them up.

“Uh, Eli? There’s a terrifyingly intense woman staring at me through the front window. Shit, she looks pissed,” Zanther pauses. “Oh no, don’t tell me you’ve been dabbling in the Dungeons Dating app again?”

All I can do is smile. “ Dabbling ? Is that your word of the day?”

“Shut up! I love my calendar. Don’t act like you haven’t dabbled into a few too many dark spaces recently. Should I mention Sarah, Tanya …”

“Shut it.” I wave away his comment in the air, hoping it’ll disappear. “Rynn’s coming in.”

“Who’s Rynn?”

My crush pushes the double doors open wide like a scene from an action movie and storms in. With fire bursting in her hazel eyes, she stomps straight up to me.

I hold out both arms to welcome her into a hug. She jerks to a stop in front of me, caught off guard, and glances at my arms like they’re poisonous octopus tentacles ready to sting.

“What are you doing?” Putting both hands on her hips, she stands solidly in a wide stance. Her adorably serious expression shatters any remaining doubt. I must go on a date with this woman. I’ll convince her, whether I need to run a marathon, take her skydiving, or even eat Goosie … I’ll do it.

Never mind, I can’t eat my cat. That’s ludicrous.

“I’m waiting for you to hug me, obviously.” I nod to both arms, still hovering in the air. It’s a good thing I’m in shape because I’m not lowering them until she steps into my embrace willingly. “If I must sleep like this, I will.”

Rynn shakes her head, and ignores my awkward stubbornness. “I mean, what are you really doing here? In Oakmar, in my town, on the busiest night of the month? Did your grandpa hire you to help him with marketing?”

“My grandpa died,” I say, gaze trained on her, arms steady. “I could sure use a comforting hug.”

“Yeah, he could,” Zanther quips from where he leans against the wall, watching this all play out. “He loves all forms of medieval dungeon affection.”

“Who are you?” Rynn asks, not taking any steps closer.

“I’m just your average dungeon-enthusiast supporter,” Zanther deadpans, and I stifle a chuckle.

Rynn tilts her head, obviously trying to make sense of my ridiculous brother, but then focuses back on me. “Aren’t your arms sore yet?”

“No, m’lady,” I say like a knight in shining armor. “I shall never lower these love weapons until I receiveith comfort from thou.”

“Love weapons?”

Her eyes narrow and I can see the exact moment when she considers hugging me, maybe for the sake of moving the conversation along, but I’ll mark it as a win.