Page 24 of Bewitched & Bewildered
The vase of flowers sitting in the main room says otherwise. I intend to dry them as soon as possible, but the conversation with Rowan has me sidetracked.
“Sure.” She eyes me up and down with a blank expression. “Have you looked at the prices over there?”
Of course, my most perceptive sister can see through me.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “No…”
“You should next time you go over. We’re raising our prices, but we still want competitive pricing compared to him.”
“You can’t just check for me?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
She smirks. “Because I don’t want to.”
My sisters are all grown up now, but there are moments when I feel like we’re still the same people we were when we were young. We love pushing each other’s buttons; the younger ones are especially frustrating.
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll do it myself.”
“I’ll help with the numbers,” Rowan says. “I’m not leaving you here to drown. It will take a lot of work to get her records up to date, preferably in an actual bookkeeping program. From here on out, you can consider me your accountant.”
My eyes light up. “Really?”
“Of course.” She looks away from me and picks at the lint on her sweater. “It’s not as if you can afford one.”
I wince. “That’s true. It sounds like I can’t afford much of anything.”
She meets my gaze again, and while her stare is harsh, it’s earnest. “I’m not doing this for Mom. I’m doing it for you. If this isn’t what you want…”
“It is.”
“Make sure it’sreallywhat you want. Running a business isn’t fun and games.”
“I know”—I let out a slow sigh—“and I still want to do it.”
“Okay,” she says. “Then I’ll help.”
It takesa few hours to wrangle the rest of my sisters into the shop. There’s no hope of Aspen coming, but I ask her to join us on Facetime.
Her response makes me roll my eyes.
Aspen
Can’t. Can you send me an email?
At least she’s predictable.
I don’t know when I’m going to see my sister again. I hope she’ll return for Winter Solstice, an important celebration among many witches, but I don’t hold my breath for her anymore. She barely visited home before our mother died, and last year, she jetted off to Paris to avoid our loneliest holiday season yet.
Laurel and Maple have no problem joining us. Maple finished work early in the morning, and Laurel…
Well, Laurel is unemployed, but she’s still the last to come. Her boots stomp against the wooden floor as she runs inside.
“Oh, my god!” she yelps. “It’s open!”
“Not quite,” I say. “We’re nowhere near ready.”
