Witch by Kirsten Weiss

Author:Kirsten Weiss
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Tags: witch cozy mystery, witches of doyle, paranormal romance, hex, cozy mystery, witch mystery, paranormal mystery, female sleuths
ISBN: 9781944767327
Publisher: misterio press
Published: 2018-08-28T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“Voila, your pumpkin latte.” Eyes burning, I carefully poured the milk into the espresso, creating a wreath of hearts in the foam. I handed the cup across the counter.

“Cool,” Susan said. “Thanks!” The B&B owner raised her paper cup in salute and bustled out the door.

I braced my arm on the high counter. My elbow slipped off the polished wood, jostling me, and I sighed. Maintaining a work rhythm didn’t take much concentration. This was a good-news-bad-news situation, because work wasn’t much of a diversion from Brayden.

My head and heart alternately hated him and ached from the loss. I wanted to curl up like a dried leaf and float away. I wanted to stay in bed and cry. I wanted to turn back the clock and fix things. But where had they gone so wrong? How could I not have seen this coming?

I’d broken my promise to myself and tried calling him again. He’d rejected that call too and hadn’t called back. I didn’t believe in trying to get closure from an ex. Real closure came from within. It meant moving on.

I whirled to fill the next order. Two coffees, black, large. I poured and set the cups on the counter in front of Mr. O’Hare, dapper in his checked waistcoat.

Smoothing his white hair, he studied me through rimmed glasses. “Are you unwell?” he asked quietly.

I stretched my lips into a smile. “Fine,” I chirped and glanced to the table where the odd Mrs. Raven sat in her forties-era green suit. Think about the strange, vintage couple. Think about anything but—

How could Brayden have dumped me so casually? Was this about Terry? Had she brought back his guilt over his wife’s death?

O’Hare nodded. “Of course. You’ve got too many obligations to let emotions affect your work.”

I started. That showed how little he knew about my emotions.

But he wasn’t completely wrong. I had employees to pay. Just because my life was falling apart, it didn't mean I had to turn everyone else’s upside down.

I distracted myself with latte art, making pumpkins and oak leaves. Magic poured from my fingertips, and the designs grew more elaborate. Christmas trees and smiling dogs, suns that whirled slowly in their cups, entire cornucopias, spilling with fruit. A pilgrim’s ship crossing the ocean, its prow nudging against Plymouth Rock. A dragon that opened its jaws, and a phoenix flew out.

The magic shivered my skin, and the crowd grew, clamoring for more lattes, and I started to get requests. A child’s profile. A skier flying down a mountain. A skull-and-crossbones for a goth teen with a pierced nose.

At six, Darla shot me a desperate look, and I nodded for her to close the door. The people lined up along the covered sidewalk groaned but trudged away good naturedly.

We served the last customers. Since we were closing so much later than usual, I let Darla leave without helping me clean.

Alone beneath the twinkle lights, I lingered over mopping floors and wiping counters. But cleaning didn’t rid me of the dull emptiness inside.

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