A Witch's Guide to Fake Dating a Demon by Sarah Hawley

Author:Sarah Hawley [Hawley, Sarah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2023-03-07T00:00:00+00:00

EIGHTEEN

Mariel scowled as she watered an iris. The plant shrank, and she patted its leaves in apology. “It’s not you,” she explained. “It’s Oz.”

The temerity of that demon! Humping her into the mattress, then hiding like a coward.

“What?” Ben looked up from his ledger. He looked like a nerdy lumberjack in a plaid shirt and worn jeans.

“I told the plant I wasn’t mad at it. It was worried.”

“If you say so,” he said skeptically, nudging gold-frame glasses up his nose.

Mariel moved down the line of flowers, watering and petting them. As she did, some of the tightness in her chest eased. She fell into the familiar, meditative rhythm of work, letting the motions carry her worried thoughts away.

“What do you mean there’s no VIP service?” The familiar voice shattered Mariel’s concentration. She set the watering can aside and hurried towards the front.

Ben was standing with his hands on his hips and his toe tapping. Facing him down was Cynthia Cunnington, looking as Waspy as ever in a pink dress belted at the waist, augmented by pearls, a white designer handbag, and oversized sunglasses perched on her blond updo.

“I own this store,” Ben said, gesturing towards the ben’s plant emporium sign hanging over the register, which Mariel had hand-painted as a present. “That’s as VIP as it gets.”

Cynthia sniffed and looked him up and down. “Then get me diamond begonias.”

“I already told you, we’re sold out.”

Diamond begonias were a rare, glittering varietal that had a libido-enhancing effect when eaten. During the months they were in season, they were snapped up almost as soon as they were put on shelves.

“You don’t understand. I need them today.”

“Sounds like you procrastinated baking your festival pie,” Mariel called out. It was the Autumn Festival’s opening day, and the baking competition would play out that afternoon—something her mother’s frantic text messages had made abundantly clear. Mariel hadn’t answered those texts yet, some foolish part of her hoping her mother would at least acknowledge, if not apologize for, the dinner party disaster.

“Mariel,” Cynthia said. “So happy to see you here.” Her tone made it clear she was anything but.

“We have other edible flowers like pansies and marigolds,” Ben said. “If you’ll come this way . . .”

Cynthia cut him off with a sharp movement of her hand. “I don’t want other flowers.” She turned to Mariel. “This man is useless. Surely you can get me diamond begonias?”

Mariel crossed her arms, glaring at Cynthia. “Ben owns this shop. If he says we don’t have them, we don’t have them.”

Cynthia sniffed. “I’m the mayor.” She said it like a magic word that would open a secret begonia stash.

“Trust me, we know,” Ben said dryly.

Cynthia turned her back on him. “I hate talking to manual laborers. Mariel?”

Ben looked baffled and offended, and Mariel’s temper spiked. What did Cynthia expect her to do, conjure some out of nowhere? Since plants were involved, there was a possibility Mariel would get it right, but she wasn’t going to try. “No,” she said.

“What?”

“I said no.

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