Page 21 of Raising the Sun

Except that was delusional, and preparing for nothing only took an hour, so thinking about Ash often happened sooner than I liked.

Today, I’d turned to making bows in a last-ditch effort to stave off my daydreaming. I already had a pile pre-made in the back, but it was my go-to whenever my hands needed to be kept busy. It was a mindless task, using my thumb to glide the edge of the scissors over the tails of the ribbon until it sprang into a curl. It was oddly fun, and briefly distracted me from the fact that the shop was barren.

However, the green strip I’d subconsciously chosen reminded me of a certain belt on a certain dressing gown that I wanted to ignore, and that was how I found myself once again imagining my demon roommate on his knees.

The next ribbon curl was accompanied by a frustrated sigh.

I couldn’t believe I’d fucking bailed. If Ash hadn’t thought me a proper bellend before, he did now. Maybe that was why he hadn’t tried again. He’d realised that all my baggage wasn’t worth the aggravation, and had given up. The fact that he still acted like his regular ole inappropriate self didn’t really contradict that theory. It was just how he was, I’d decided—foul-mouthed and sassy—so I had no way of knowing if the recent dip in persuasion was because he’d rescinded his offer or if he was giving me a break.

Either way, I was glad of the chance to process.

My entire life, every step of the way, people had doubted me. It made me hell-bent on proving them wrong, turned me into someone who refused to ask for help or rely on anyone. I was stubborn. A control freak. It felt like failure to need someone else, like it didn’t count whenever the credit was shared, and for some reason, part of me thought that giving in to Ash’s terms meant giving up. Admitting to the world that I wasn’t good enough to fix this on my own.

But that was ridiculous.

If anything, by accepting what was offered, the problem was still being solved by me.I’dbe making the conscious decision to take the path that headed straight for success. All I needed was to reach out and meet someone halfway.

It was just hard to let go.

Glancing around the shop, my chest tightened at how quiet and empty it was—a far cry from what I had envisioned when the place first opened. It hadn’t always been thatway. Customers used to queue out the door, bringing in a decent and steady income, but like all good things, popularity had a sell-by date. More and more businesses had opened up in town, exciting new novelties that the folks’ interests shifted to instead. There were now supermarkets with cheaper options—and maybe better ones, in some cases—alongside an increasing trend towards DIY.

The decline in revenue had been a gradual but noticeable one. People wanted to be wowed, to feel like what they were getting was unique and worth the investment, but the less they came, the less money I had to spare on inventory to convince them.

A vicious cycle.

I still had my regulars—their loyalty truly was touching—but even the odd wedding and funeral was barely enough to cover the bills, never mind profit and stock. I relied solely on my fast-dwindling savings, plus the cutting out of absolutely anything that leaned closer to a luxury than a necessity. It was no way to live, but the alternative was conceding to all those voices that had told me I couldn’t do it.

Fuck that noise.

The most depressing part? Looking at the walls and floors, all they needed was a fresh lick of paint and maybe a new carpet. Simple adjustments that could return it to its former glory—and closer to what I’d wished the place would be—but I was too skint for any of it.

There was so much room for improvement, and none of it would have cost a fortune, but still more than I had. There could be a better layout that felt more welcoming, extra fairy lights above the door, trinkets and gifts that were actually on trend. Even just a bloody updated theme for the window display.

I wasn’t exactly envisioning paradise!

Timed to a fucking tee, one of the teardrop lights hanging above that very same display flickered and popped. It set off a chain reaction, the rest of the bulbs in the circuit blowing, plunging that entire corner of the shop into darkness. I stared, unmoving for a moment, before a bitter laugh bubbled up in my throat and I dropped to my elbows on the counter.

My eyes stung, but unless my tears had turned to gold since the last time I’d cried, I refused to let them fall. It would make no difference. I couldn’t afford repairs or upgrades or renovations, and sitting there blubbering wouldn’t undo that. It was just frustrating beyond belief to know that I’d poured all I had into my dream, and if everything kept crumbling at this rate, it would all be for nothing.

Something desperately needed to change.

And I had a feeling it was going to have to beme.

I closed the shop an hour early, a habit I had picked up for days when customers were extra scarce. I hadn’t seen anyone since an older woman at lunchtime who’d wanted a dozen peony roses for her mother’s birthday—her favourites, apparently. But they were no longer in season, so she’d left disappointed with a potted orchid under her arm instead.

It was a sale, at least.

After the last few months of a similar routine, I’d reached the conclusion that there was no use hanging around for a miracle or throwing money I didn’t have at the electric man. There was only so much I could busy myself with when there were no orders to be filled, so leaving made sense. A note was always pinned to the door with my number should anyone turn up—I was only upstairs, after all—but they never did. At what point could it be considered a waste of paper?

With a sigh, I trudged up to my flat, hanging up my hoodie once inside. Ash was in his usual spot, lounging on the sofa, wearing that damned robe again. It was a little backward how a slip of fabric warranted more of my concern than any of hisdemonattributes but, in truth, those were easier to get used to. Or ignore. The robe, however, had my heart racing no matter how often he wore it.

Maybe it was cursed?

Ash had a different book in his lap from yesterday, one I didn’t recognise by the cover alone.How to Kill the Taxman and Get Away with It, the title read. Yeah, circumstances considered, it definitely wasn’t one of mine.

“Where are you pulling these books from?” I asked, coming to stand at the end of the couch, hands planted on my hips. “That wasn’t on my shelf.”

“No, it was hidden under your bed with your unopened sex toys and a demon-summoning how to.”

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