Page 19 of Hopelessly Teavoted
Victoria paused. An emotion flashed across her face that Az hoped was not pity. The corners of her mouth tugged down, and her eyebrows furrowed. He knew he looked bad. He hadn’t been sleeping since his parents died. The guilt of not having been there weighed on him, and he felt lost. Listless. Magic thrummed sometimes at his fingertips, aching to be let out, and wasted away in whispers in other moments, like it threatened to disappear. Like he could never get the closure to properly grieve, and his body didn’t know if it should mourn his lost family in fireworks of power or in low depths of despair.
The grieving was endless.
Now that he was back here, when he closed his eyes at night, if it wasn’t his dead parents he missed, it washer. In a different way, of course, and the juxtaposition of the grief and the lust, the two disparate types of longing, was maddening. He felt like an asshole half the time, waking up hard and uncomfortable after dreaming about what he had no right to dream about. Struggling with the depravity of what he pictured whiletrying not to think of her in the shower. Languishing in an emotional pile of rubble the other half of the time. Knowing, as he did, that he had let his parents down and had missed his chance to say goodbye.
Grief was a strange bedfellow that rolled over him in waves, sometimes wasting days in gray numbness and other times just spurts of disenchantment between twisting, bright memories of the girl he couldn’t get out of his mind now that he was back here, where he had loved her once.
Az hadn’t answered, his eyes fixed on the black tablecloth and the candelabra-shaped sugar holder that topped his table, avoiding looking up and trying not stare at the curve of her bottom lip, slightly redder than the top, just as he remembered, or the alluring, plump dip of her neckline below her apron.
“How are you, Azrael?” Vickie’s voice quieted as she asked after him again. He didn’t want to open that topic, but when he opened his mouth, words tumbled out, unbidden.
“I’m fine. I’ve been better, but I’m fine. Being in my mom’s shop, I mean your shop, but you know it makes me think, and all.”
He bit back a groan of embarrassment. He did words for a living. How was it possible for him to ramble this badly?
Reaching for the coffee cup at the edge of the table, Az meant to snap again to cool the air, in an attempt to pacify the man at the counter who appeared to be arguing with the kid at the register about his change. He vaguely recognized the man’s face from his Zoom interview as his new department chair, and hoped the man didn’t recognize him. Vickie was looking at the interaction, too, probably deciding if she needed to step in. Azrael snapped under the table, and then frowned.
Itshouldhave calmed the man down, but nothing happened. If anything, his glare had sharpened.
That was strange; his magic didn’t run out unless he’d exerted tremendous amounts of power, or, as he discovered once in college, indulged in any sort of hallucinogenic drugs, in which case it was prone to wild explosions followed by droughts. He wouldn’t repeat that mistake; it had taken weeks to get thespaghetti off the ceiling while his powers returned, and he wasn’t friends with that former roommate anymore.
Maybe it was the grief, muting his abilities.
“Sorry, Mr. Thornington. Here, enjoy a donut on the house,” said Hazel, handing him a bag.
Hazel flipped off Mr. Thornington as soon as he turned around and stormed out of the shop, and Azrael smiled at this, the magical misfire forgotten. He was willing to bet that curmudgeon had earned a floor donut. His fingers grazed the coffee cup, missing it, and then scrambled for purchase.
Trying to catch it proved ruinous, and the remains of his coffee spilled over the table and onto his lap, the cup shattering into shards on the floor.
People turned to look, but Vickie smiled reassuringly. “It’s just a cup, Az. It’s fine.”
He cursed his awkwardness.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll pay for it.”
Vickie pulled a towel from her apron and mopped the table off with one hand, passing him napkins for his pants with the other. Dammit, now he was imagining her rubbing his pants.
He was such a mess, and she was literally picking up the pieces.
“It’s fine, Az. Don’t worry about it. I know you’ve been going through it.”
“Can’t put a broken mug back together—or a broken heart,” he muttered, blushing. He’d meant over his parents, but what if she thought he meant her? His cheeks burned now. “I am so sorry. And I have been having a rough time of it. Still, I should have called you. Many times. I’m sorry.” He was striking out here, without even another bad joke to fall back on.
“I get it. I should have called, too, when… well, when everything…” She bit her bottom lip, cradling the shards of mug carefully in her hands. Goddess, he wanted to be those teeth. “Can I get you something to eat? We have donuts with music-themed names today. I can get you a Raspberry Beignet or a Caramel Me Maybe.”
“Did you make them?”
She beamed a little. “Yeah, I did. I’ve been doing all the baking.”
“Then yes. One of each.” Finally, his words were coming out normal, as though he didn’t feel the echo of being awkwardly in love with her more than a decade earlier, and then having that one horrible, glorious misunderstanding six years ago, when he’d thought for a moment that everything was finally falling into place.
“I’ll bring them over.” She paused, pursing her lips a little bit, and leaning in. “There’s something I need to talk to you about. Something,you know, not mundane.”
Well, now it made more sense that she agreed to talk to him after closing. Maybe Priscilla was being serious about her needing his help, and not just a meddling little matchmaker emulating their mom. Vickie needed help with a magical problem, that was all. And she had no idea what Az felt for her, after all these years, and clearly not even a smidge of similar feelings. That was fine; he’d lock away his thoughts down deep, as always, as if, if he pretended they didn’t exist for long enough, he could make them disappear. He would focus on the tea shop, familiar once more with throngs of people eager for beverages and pastries with a side of occult servingware.
“Of course. We can talk about it when you’re done here.” Azrael snapped his fingers, adding just a smidge of happy memories to Hank’s tea.
He’d done his part to make Hank a little happier, and now, if he could, he’d make Vickie’s day a little better too. He snapped twice to send the glorious donut smell farther into town. After all, it was what Persephone would have done.
