Page 125 of Valentine Nook
“No, not in the mood.”
Clemmie sucks in her cheek and I feel her studying me. She hasn’t asked me why I’m not as chirpy as usual, but she knows. She sees Lando almost more than I do, and I know he’s gone back to being as short-tempered as he was when I arrived. I heard him shouting at Miles after he left my place yesterday morning.
“Are you in the mood for a drink?”
I bark a laugh. I’m so grateful for our friendship. I have to work on not letting my throat constrict too much, or the tears will flow. I can’t have that because if I start, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop.
“I’m always in the mood for a drink.”
She loops her arm through mine. “Then let’s go.”
The air is crisp as we walk down Valentine High Street.Halloween decorations are being strung up from the lampposts, and pumpkins large and small are scattered around each store entrance. The wisteria has died off into gnarled ropes climbing up the walls, fitting well with the spooky vibe, and some stores have entwined it with witches and ghost silhouettes.
I’m so busy trying to commit all the details to memory that I don’t notice Mrs. Winston walking toward us until I almost bump into her. She’s holding an enormous bunch of carrots.
“Oh, Holiday dear, excuse me.”
I take hold of her arm before she falls. “Sorry, Mrs. Winston, my fault, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“Not to worry. I’m glad I bumped into you girls,” she says, her head bobbing between Clemmie and me. “I’ve just made a lovely batch of blackcurrant jam. I’ll drop some over to your cottage. Or better yet, you must come over for tea to try it. I’ll make scones.”
“We’d love to,” Clemmie replies for both of us.
“Good, good. I’ll be in touch. Next week perhaps.” She smiles, offering a little wave of the carrots as she does. “Anyway, must dash, need to get these to Churchill. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
“You don’t want to take that goat with you, do you?” mumbles Clemmie, before Mrs. Winston is out of earshot. “I think this might be the year he meets his demise if he’s caught in the apple orchard again.”
My laugh dissolves into a sob, and I’m wiping my face.
“Don’t worry, you don’t have to cry,” she continues, wrapping her arms around me. “I’m sure it won’t come to that. Churchill will live forever.”
I see what she’s doing, and I’m grateful. I know she’ll listen if I want to talk about Lando, but I truthfully don’t know what to say.
When we start walking again, I notice a crowd waitingoutside Agatha Chase’s Love Emporium. Way more than usual, and there’s always a lot because it’s easily the most popular store in Valentine Nook.
I guess broken hearts are big business.
“Wow, Agatha’s busy today.”
“It’s some special full moon, and Halloween’s coming up. It’s her second busiest time after Valentine’s Day.” Clemmie shrugs, slowing her stride, but with no intention of stopping.
After Clemmie pulled us away from her on my first trip around the village, and Lando practically sprinted in the opposite direction, I decided maybe it was best if I didn’t investigate. But now I’m tempted, so I stop.
It’s the big pink neon signs for love potions, spells, and rituals that pull me in. Giant amethysts have been placed in the window next to times and openings for tarot readings, and crystal baths promising to heal your female energy.
“I want to go in.”
“Okay, but take it with a pinch of salt. She’s kind of intense.” Clemmie sighs and walks toward the door.
I thumb to the back of the crowd, consisting of mostly teenage girls. “Don’t we need to get in line?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “They’re here for readings.”
I follow her into the store, and I’m immediately hit with the scent in the air—sweet and thick from the burning incense—and it makes me feel lightheaded.
It’s surprisingly spacious inside, set out like an apothecary, with shelves of drawers filled with herbs you can scoop out yourself, and bottles of colored liquid labeled with names such as “Love No. 1,” “Full Moon Protection Spray,” and a dozen different “potions.” It’s gimmicky, but it’s cute, and I kind of wish I hadn’t waited so long to come in.
A couple of women are being kept busy behind the counter, while another restocks shelves. I’m wondering where Agatha is when I hear a jangle of bracelets behind me. When I turnaround, she’s standing in front of me. Up close, she’s much younger than I thought, maybe in her fifties, with flawless skin and piercing green eyes. It’s her long, pale gray hair that gives the impression she’s closer to one hundred.
