Page 56 of The Pumpkin Spice Spell
It’s so peaceful in the shop that it makes you want to stay forever. The bell above the door jingles softly each time the fall wind nudges it, and the scent of cinnamon and old books drifts in lazy waves from the candles I lit an hour ago. Rowan’s behind the apothecary display shelf, restocking bath soaks and humming to herself.
I’m restocking the front table with fall favorites, witchy reads, and cozy small-town romances when the door opens again.
And just like that, the atmosphere shifts. Randy and April and their two kids barrel in like a hurricane. The kids scatter immediately, one darting toward the puzzle shelf, one climbing onto the reading nook bench with muddy boots, the littlestgrabbing for the stack of free bookmarks near the register like they’re party favors.
My jaw tightens. “Hey there,” I say, forcing a smile as I come around the table. “Let me know if you need help finding anything.”
April doesn’t acknowledge me. She strolls around like she owns the place, oversized sunglasses pushed up on her head, pumpkin spice latte in hand bearing a logo from a chain coffee shop on the edge of town. Randy’s trailing behind, already swiping on his phone like he’s doing something important. He mutters, “Kids, don’t break anything,” but never looks up.
The oldest child, probably nine or ten, immediately starts unzipping every single pencil pouch on the novelty shelf. The youngest, who looks around seven or eight, is now aggressively spinning the book carousel. I glance at Rowan, who meets my gaze with a quietoh hell noexpression and slowly steps around to shut it down with a scary look and hands on her hips.
April walks over to the counter, not to buy anything, of course, but to lean against it and scroll through her phone while sipping her drink.
I clear my throat and step over to the table her youngest just knocked half a display off of. I crouch to gather up the scattered books.
“So,” April finally says flatly, not looking up from her phone. “Didn’t know you and your family were still around.”
I smile with my teeth but not my eyes. “Yep. Still here.”
“Hmm.” Her tone makes it sound like a personal failure.
The eldest kid walks by, drops one of our shop pencils on the floor without noticing, then grabs a free water cup from the dispenser we keep near the door andspills half of iton the doormat. He walks away. Doesn’t even blink.
I grab a towel from behind the counter and mop it up, one hand clenched around the fabric like it might keep me from screaming.
April still does nothing.
Randy’s wandered to the back now, flipping through a thriller novel he’s definitely not going to buy. He turns a page loudly and sighs.
Rowan walks over to the fall display and steps into view beside me, eyebrows raised in solidarity. She’s got her hands clasped in front of her like she’s actively resisting the urge to hex someone.
The smallest kid now has a bookmark in her mouth and attempts to put it back on the shelf. Gross.
I bite my lip.
April finally glances up at the kids. “Randy,” she calls, her voice sharp and flat. “We’re leaving soon.”
No one responds. No one stops. Fifteen more minutes of pure chaos. Fifteen minutes of grabbing bookmarks off the floor, putting tea tins back on shelves, trying to gently stop a kid from climbing onto a display table without sounding like a villain in myown bookstore.
Fifteen minutes of April pretending not to notice the havoc, of Randy muttering to himself and putting creases in book spines. If I had my way he’d go straight to hell for that one. What kind of animal does that?
When she finally decides it’s time to go, April rests her sunglasses back onto her nose, spins on a heel, and says, “Let’s go.”
Randy groans and shuffles forward. The kids follow, one of them kicking over the basket of rolled-up reading maps on the way out.
I don’t say a word.
I just bend down and start picking them up, one by one.
April pauses at the door and looks back at me. The glare is subtle, but there’s something in it. Like she wants me to know she saw the mess and doesn’t care. Like the whole thing amused her.
They leave without buying a single thing. Didn’t even say thank you for the free water. Just left the half-empty cups everywhere.
The bell jingles as the door swings shut.
Silence again.
Rowan exhales dramatically and flops against the counter like she just survived a battle.
