Page 89 of Hopelessly Teavoted
“That’s what you’re going with? Not my stunning eyes, or all of this?” He gestured to his torso, and lower, and Priscilla snapped her fingers, magically throwing a bunch of bananas at him, from goddess knows where. They hit his shoulder with a thump, and she shook her head sternly.
“No judging, Az. Your turn.”
“Fine,” he said, his hazel eyes flashing, specks of green glinting against the brown. “Evelyn, I love that you’re such a fierce leader, and your commitment to uniting the European Council with NACoW.” Evelyn smiled. “Priscilla, I love that you took care of Mom and Dad when I couldn’t be here.” His voice cracked, and Vickie squeezed his gloved hand, glad for the interfering table and its shortening shenanigans.
“Vickie,” he breathed, and the flowers paused for a moment, hovering in the air. “I love that you wear shoes that are too tall even though you are, by all means, very clumsy, and end up stumbling. Honestly, it’s a wonder you don’t fall into a ditch. You’re very lucky I’m here to catch you.”
Priscilla pelted him with plums now, each finger snap a barrage of purple fruit.
“Az, I thought you were going to be serious.”
“I will be,” he deadpanned. “I intend to be completely serious with Vickie in the future. But the things I want to be serious about are best said once we figure all of this out. And we all have business to attend to before that happens. Best not to start a thing until I can finish it.”
He winked, and to Vickie’s embarrassment, Evelyn and Priscilla exchanged a knowing smile.
CHAPTER 29Azrael
The rush of the school year picked up, and without help from her high school employees during the week, Vickie was stretched so thin catching up at the store that Az felt like he had blinked and they were halfway through October without talking in more than passing and text messages.
People weren’t kidding about the exhaustion of first-year teaching, or of running a whole business, it seemed.
Still, there was something nice about having a person to text message with a picture of his cat at 7 a.m. before he left for work. Something reassuring about seeing that she had texted him back right before he crashed on his couch Thursday, falling asleep at 6 p.m. only to wake up at half past one and stumble up to bed. The year was hard. The case seemed to be stalling, waiting for him to either find something on Chet or find another lead. And as far as he knew, Thornington had been up to nothing more nefarious than terrorizing senior literature students. But he had the possibility of Vickie, so he would hold on to hope.
By the time the early dismissal day rolled around Friday, he was desperate to see her.
They needed to figure out who the greater devil had bargained with, and it was less than a month until the veil thinned.
Only the little skull bells jangling at the door of Hopelessly Teavoted could soothe his anxious, roiling soul.
This late on a Friday afternoon the shop was mostly clear, and Hank’s plate was already empty as he read his newspaper at a high-top in the back.
Azrael smiled. Hank’s presence felt like another sign from the universe that he should follow in the footsteps of great loves like Hank’s, and his parents’.
Touching be damned. You didn’t have to touch to love a person, did you?
“Mr. Hart!” Hazel’s cheery voice called from the cash register. He’d been in every morning under the guise of picking up coffee and donuts, and every day, she asked him the same thing. “Do you know when you’ll be done grading essays?”
“I wrapped up my penultimate set this afternoon. Your class is next. Not to worry, you’ll get feedback and the next glorious writing lesson soon.”
Hazel smiled. “I was hoping that my all-time favorite teacher might be able to tell me how I did on mine, since, you know, he’s in love with my boss and all.”
Azrael rolled his eyes at this, trying to keep his face impassive, though he felt a blush creep up, and there was absolutely no way Hazel would let it slide.
“Awwwww yeah, VICKIE. MR. HART IS HERE, eager to see you.”
Dammit, Hazel. There went his plan for a cool, nonchalant entrance.
“Mr. Hart, do you want a drink?”
“Yeah, coffee. Black, with a little room.”
“As though I don’t already know your order. Just wasn’t sure if you were going with your coffee or your tea since it’s close to closing time. Banana bread?”
“When do I ever not want banana bread?” Azrael said jokingly. He loved that Hazel was his student. She kept discussion time sharp and engaging, and her thoughts on Mary Shelley were downright inspiring.
“Coming right up.” She beamed at him, and then mock-whispered, “I have been putting in a good word. We all have.”
From behind the counter, Hank nodded and set down his paper.
