Page 21 of Hopelessly Teavoted
Vickie almost took her phone out to text Azrael, who would have appreciated Hank’s joke. But that was silly, to text him from across the room, like they were in high school again. And besides, he was snapping under the table, doing some sort of magic. Better not to disturb him.
She looked up, surprised to see that despite the late hour, a line had formed, and soon she was ringing up people and handing out coffee cups and muffins and filling carafes with iced coffee and juices so quickly that an hour flew by. The next thing she knew, Hazel was next to her, taking orders and making things move twice as fast. During a brief lull, they switched places, and then it was Vickie serving muffins and walking around to refill sugar packets and creamers. They rarely did this kind of business so close to closing.
She checked the coffee makers, trying not to look at Az too much. When her wandering eyes did land on him, he was looking anywhere but at her. The last of the customers trickled out, and when Hank left, Vickie took the carafes to the sink in the back.
Azrael must have still been wary of Sultry Sunday attire. Persephone and Benedict had been so comfortable with who they were. Witchy and weird and sexy. So openly in love with each other that he called her “my darling” and she called him “handsome” in casual conversation. So obviously attracted to each other and so handsy in public that people in town had speculated that the Harts had some sort of kinky sex dungeon.
Which theydefinitelydid; she and Az had awkwardly stumbled upon it once as teenagers, empty of any witchy or human occupants at the time of their discovery, thank goddess. But the chains and toys had been exciting nonetheless, and had led to a tensely whispered conversation about the benefits anddrawbacks of spanking and whips afterward, and some feelings that she had not yet understood at thirteen.
She tried not to remember those particular thoughts as she scrubbed out the coffeepots, rinsing them and setting them to dry before returning to the front, where Hazel was packing up the remaining pastries to take home.
Azrael still sat at the same table, of course, looking half-miserable and half-eager. So different from Persephone’s certainty, though Vickie remembered her telling them as teenagers that she, too, had struggled once to figure her life out.
Now that the shop was empty, Hazel was raising her eyebrows and clearing her throat while leaning her head so far over that it looked like she could be auditioning for a role inThe Exorcist.
“I’ll leave you two alone, then,” the girl announced almost in a yell, and Vickie winced. There was no way Azrael hadn’t heard. Or seen the overly enthusiastic gestures.
“Yes, thank you, Hazel. See you tomorrow night.” She took off her apron, hanging it on the hook, adjusting her robe, and trying not to check to see if Azrael’s eyes followed. She forced herself to wave and smile at her lone employee instead of looking at her former friend.
“Have fun, boss.” Hazel winked, and Azrael looked at the ground.
Like he probably wanted to melt into it. Like the idea of any extracurricular fun with her, even now, was a burden too great to risk looking her in the eyes for. Goddess, how she had missed those hazel eyes. She thought that maybe his face was a little bit flushed. This made her smile; after all this time, he was still uptight about lingerie.
But now Vickie was staring, and Az would think she had been sitting around moping after him. He probably had some beautiful person back in California that he pined for. With very tasteful, full-coverage underthings. Probably still silky and sexy as hell, but, like, demure and shit.
“You want to wait until I’m done cleaning and prepping inthe back?” she offered. The only way out of this awkwardness was through it, and she was determined to stick to her normal routine for both her depleting bank account and hopeful business sense. But it didn’t seem right to make him work for free in his dead mom’s shop when he had come here to talk.
“I’ll help,” he said. “I missed it here, anyway. It’s been too long since—”
His voice cracked. His wrecked face pulled into a furrow as his eyes darted from the little skull bells to the cat cup in front of him. Then to the sign over the counter with a rainbow Black Lives Matter fist wearing a pointed hat. The stickers with the words Hex Bigotry, Witches. All little relics of Persephone, her shop, and her vibe, had to be overwhelming for him. There was so much loveliness lost in the death of his parents, so much magic, real and imagined, in the town of Hallowcross, now gone forever with them.
Without thinking about how it might make her look, Victoria walked over to Azrael and threaded her fingers through his. For a moment, she felt naked, as though the lace and silk had evaporated. She hoped he didn’t notice the way her breasts tightened, nipples hardening under the delicate fabric. The traitors. His hand was warm, and she concentrated on that feeling as her nerves tingled with the magic that rested in his palms. She shut her eyes, unwilling to see if revulsion flashed across his face.
She only opened them once he exhaled loudly enough for her to feel the whoosh of air, which sent tremors down her spine. “I forgot about that,” he whispered. Azrael was a witch and Vickie was devil-kissed, and when they touched their magics recognized each other, fire and insight, sparks and might. Their hands knew each other.
Probably the rest of their bodies would, too, but she sure as hell would never get a chance to test that out again.
She hadn’t forgotten, though, what it had been like to trace his tingling skin.
He sighed again for a moment, and she wanted to captureit, to swallow it whole. His eyes were shut, and both their hands rested now on top of the table before he stood up, not breaking the link, and she was reminded of how tall he was. That much she had forgotten. Had he always been this tall up close? It was the closest they had been since that moment six years ago, and he seemed larger. Taller, broader. Even the air around him felt thicker with grief, she realized.
But when Azrael opened his eyes, the startling greenish strands in the brown, his pupils blown wide, it was no longer sadness she saw there, and she stepped forward without another thought. The heel of one of her precarious shoes slipped, and she fell directly into him, losing her balance and mourning ahead of time the indignity of falling flat on her face.
Which never happened. Instead, a strong arm wrapped around her waist, holding her upright against him while the other, still entwined in her own, pulled upward and, for a moment, held her in a pose as though they were tangoing here on the floor of the tea shop. It felt like time froze with the inhale she held for a few agonizing seconds, their bodies aligned with the stars, the thrum of magic rippling warmly across all of her.
She breathed deeply, hoping he didn’t notice her heartbeat sped up. Praying simultaneously that the incessant pounding of his own wasn’t just the adrenaline of avoiding a near fall. Perhaps there was lust left yet in Azrael Hart for her, though she wasn’t kidding herself into thinking it was meaningful.
All those years gone by, and her stomach still swooped low, looping as though she were about to board a particularly dangerous and thrilling roller coaster. He tipped her back, and for a brief series of seconds, she thought he might kiss her. Her heart pounded. They had been few enough that shehadforgotten how breathless the times before Az had kissed her were. How momentous.
Evidence of a somber thought danced across his face, and he winced and set her upright, moving away.
“I’m sorry,” she started, the cold of his absence noticeable all over.
Oh goddess. She was so off. She’d read it wrong. Shit. What if he thought she had lunged into him and tripped on purpose? Shit.
“No. I am,” he began. His voice sounded shattered again. Tense. “I got carried away. My dad always used to sweep my mom like that, and for a moment, when I went to catch you, I lost myself. I didn’t mean anything by it, and I’m sorry.”
He didn’t mean anything by it. Sure. That made sense.
