Page 20 of Bewitched & Bewildered
I know a funeral bouquet when I see one. We receivedmany when the loss was still fresh. There is only one person in town who hasn’t already given us a bouquet…
Ozan is telling me to mourn my mother’s shop. That’s what this is. He’s rubbing salt in the wounds I’ve spent a year tending to.
My hands shake as I pick up the vase, lifting the tag to see who it’s from.
It has only two words written on it:
Condolences.
-Oz.
The fence I’ve been sitting on collapses beneath me. I slam the front door shut. My mind is made up when I get into my car and drive to town.
More specifically, I head to his apothecary.
It’s early enough that his shop is closed. I peer into the glass, and there he is, pouring herbs into jars. I’ve never seen a more peaceful sight. His little brown rabbit hops around the shop without a care in the world, and—all right, the bunny is cute.
But the man? He’s on my list.
I rap my knuckles against the glass. His head jerks up, and dark, wide eyes meet mine.
His surprise turns into amusement, and his eyes crinkle as he greets me at the door. Why is he so happy to see me?
He must be a masochist.
“You’re here earlier than I expected,” he says.
“Of course, you’re expecting me.” I hold out the vase. “Is that what this is about? A desperate attempt at getting my attention?”
“They’re flowers.” He rolls his eyes. “And there was a card—youknowwhat it’s about.”
“I’m here to return them.”
“No, thank you. I have a strict return policy.”
I step closer, and he steps back, letting me into the shop.
“We’re running into a problem,” I say. “You won’t take this back, and I have no interest in your pity. Where do we go from here?”
“They aren’t pity flowers.”
“What are they?”
“I heard about your mother.” His smile dissolves. He looks away, moving behind the counter to busy himself with the jars of herbs. “I didn’t know. Honest.”
“Sure, you didn’t.”
Everyone knows. It’s a small town, and people talk—even when the topic of gossip is grim. Ozan may have just returned to Starbrook, but I’m positive someone told him.
“I didn’t. My parents weren’t even aware. They told me the store had been closed for a year. I thought she retired.”
“She did. Death is the ultimate retirement.” I cross my arms and look away, staring at the display of old keys.
“The flowers are to show my condolence. There’s no ulterior motive.”
I scoff. “Do you mean to say you wouldn’t have opened your shop if you knew she…”
I can’t finish the sentence.
