Page 27 of The Spider & the Storm

I was already cursing myself.Dammit. Why hadn’t I been more prepared? I should’ve checked the menu, rehearsed my order, or better yet, put the order in online to avoid this tedious exchange altogether.

“Um”—I cleared my throat, keeping my eyes on the menu on the wall and never on her—“I, uh … don’t really know. Uh, w-what would you recommend?”

I dug my fingernails into my palm, a silent punishment for the fumble over my words, while my face heated with embarrassment. She didn’t seem to notice though as she glanced over her shoulder and pointed to the menu.

“Well, I guess that depends on what you’re in the mood for. We have hot tea, iced tea—”

“W-what’s your favorite?” I asked, both genuinely curious and desperate to not have to speak more than was absolutely necessary.

Her cheeks seemed to flush—maybe she was warm; it did seem like the temperature was too hot in here—as she turned again to address me. “Well, personally, I’m a big fan of the Wonderland Elixir, iced.”

I nodded and pulled out my wallet. “Okay, y-yeah. I’ll get one of those.”

Her eyes danced over my face, settling on my mouth, and I wondered if I had something on me. Crumbs in my beard, leftover from breakfast? I worried my bottom lip as she brought her eyes back to mine.

“Okey dokey.”

She smiled with her own lip trapped between her teeth—she’s mocking me—and turned to make the drink while I peeked one eye over my shoulder at who else was sitting in the tearoom. Any excuse to look at anyone but this woman who was clearly finding amusement at my expense.

Because you’re a loser, Charlie.

I swallowed at the insult and tried to ignore it as my eyes quickly frisked the room. The only other customers were a handful of heavily tattooed and pierced people—one man and two women.

I recognized the guy immediately as an artist from Salem Skin, the tattoo shop I’d gone to a few years ago. He was the same guy who had done the freehand spiderwebs on my hands, chest, back, arms, and shoulders a few years ago. It took three five-hour sessions to complete, and I appreciated his ability tocommunicate as little as humanly possible with the client, only stopping to ask if I needed a break or a drink a few times.

For the record, I hadn’t.

I assumed the women worked with him to some capacity. The one with the dreadlocks looked vaguely familiar, like someone I could almost place in my memory somewhere. And the other …

“Here you go,” the tea shop employee said, handing the cup and a straw to me. “Um, listen, I don’t normally ask random guys—”

“Th-thank you,” I cut her off, handing her the cash for the drink. “Keep the change.”

Then, with my head down, I was out of there, not caring at all about what the woman behind the counter had to say—and maybe a normal guy would’ve. Maybe a normal guy would’ve stuck around to chat her up or defend himself or ask her out—whatever was appropriate. But I was anything but normal. I thought that much had been established by now.

And after my eyes locked with a hue of green so stunning and otherworldly for a second blip in recent history, I was reminded that there was a place for beautiful, perfect people in this world. People who could suck the air and energy from a room with just one look, and I wasn’t one of them, nor was I deserving of a glance from her jade eyes.

***

“Things are looking good over here, my friend. Very good indeed,” Ivan—the one and only person I could come close to calling a friend—said. He walked slowly past an open grave I’ddug that morning after receiving notice from a local funeral home. “You did that by shovel?”

I shrugged nonchalantly, then nodded. “Yeah, still waiting on the guy to fix the backhoe.”

“He’d better show up soon. It’s going to get mighty cold, mighty fast.”

Ivan wasn’t too much older than me at forty-six, but what little hair he had left was grayer than Nana’s when she’d died, and he walked with a limp due to arthritis. Sometimes, he even sported a cane when the pain got to be too much to handle, reminding me of Mr. Monopoly, especially when he insisted on donning his top hat. I had taken over for him as caretaker after his condition got too bad for him to continue working such a physically demanding job, but he still made sure to stop by every so often, and I couldn’t say I minded all that much.

I didn’t care much for having friends, but Ivan was one I was usually glad to have around. Maybe it was because we had an understanding I hadn’t found in most people.

Ivan appreciated the desire for little human interaction, and we respected each other’s need for solitude. Phone calls and texts were infrequent, if they happened at all, and his visits were typically limited to once a month, if that.

“He said they were waiting on the new bucket,” I explained. “It had to be back-ordered.”

Ivan stuffed his hands into his pockets and shook his head. “What a nuisance.”

“It’d probably be easier to just get a new backhoe.”

“Yeah, but you know nobody’s going to spring for that until the old piece of junk kicks the bucket.” He snorted and glanced my way with a lopsided grin. “Get it?”

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