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But we hadn’t lost our regulars. Earl still ordered burnt toast and argued about baseball with Aunt Ophelia when she visited. The tip jar still had a sticker that said ‘Witch, Please’. And I still brought Emily the first mug of fresh drip coffee every morning, right before I flipped the chairs down.

This morning had been the usual chaos. A full breakfast rush, two dropped plates, and someone accidentally enchanted the ketchup bottles again. I flipped the last batch of pancakes, handed off the spatula, and scanned the room.

There he was. Andrew Rowan. Corner booth. Same scarf, fogged-up glasses, and that expression that made him look like he’d wandered into the wrong universe. I slid his plate onto the table.

“Your usual, Andrew. Triple stack with cinnamon butter. Side of existential dread.”

He blinked at me. “Oh. Thank you.”

I followed his gaze.

Fiona stood two tables over, taking an order with a crooked grin and a pen tucked behind one ear. Her curls bounced every time she laughed. Andrew looked like he’d just seen the sun for the first time.

“You know,” I said, “you could say hi. You’re allowed.”

He turned red. “I talk to her. Sometimes. About muffins.”

“Nothing gets the heart racing like bran,” I said. “Real seductive stuff.”

Andrew stared at his fork like it might whisper advice. “She’s… very vibrant.”

“You mean terrifying. Yeah. Most witches are. You’ll live.”

I clapped his shoulder and left him to stew.

Emily sat behind the counter, sorting through the mail. Her belly pressed against the ledge, stubborn and round. I leaned beside her.

“Andrew’s got it bad.”

“For Fiona?” she asked, pen in her teeth.

“Hasn’t stopped staring. I told him to talk to her. He mumbled something about muffins and died inside.”

“That’s precious.” She pulled out a flyer and waved it at me. “But look at this.”

I squinted at it. Valentine’s Day Storefront Decoration Competition! Red glitter letters. Cartoon cupid. Cash Prize. Town Pride.

“This is very us,” she said.

I laughed. “Like the Fourth of July display with the sparklers and that eagle that wouldn’t stop saluting?”

“It was tasteful.”

“It set Levi’s apron on fire.”

She smiled. “He’s fine.”

I looked at the flyer again. “It’d be fun. But with the baby coming, can we really glue sequins to every window and build a cupid out of soup cans?”

“My ankles protested the walk to the mailbox. So I vote no.”

I pinned the flyer to the corkboard next to the specials list. “Let’s put it out there. Staff wants to run with it, they’ve got my blessing and a full glitter budget.”

She raised her coffee cup. “To delegation.”

I clinked mine against hers. “To romance and reckless craft projects.”

“Think Fiona might be up for it?” she asked.