Page 28 of Witches of Honeysuckle House
“What do you think we should put on display?” she asked Ink. “I’m leaning toward something seasonal.”
The kitten blinked his eyes open and looked up at her, but he didn’t speak. Of course he didn’t. Her niece might have summoned him, but he was still a cat.
“Do you have any ideas?” she asked the shop.
In response, there came a thump, thump, thump of books hitting the ground a few shelves over. Ink rubbed his head against her hand before he hopped up, leapt from the counter, and trotted off in the direction of the sound. Florence followed him into the stacks, where she found a handful of paperbacks laying face up in the aisle, the same ones that were waiting for her that morning. All books about sisters.
It was just like the shop to be at once helpful and meddling—the way Florence imagined a good mother might be. She gathered up the paperbacks along with the kitten and headed over to the front window.
Ink sat atop the stack of books in her arms as she stared at the current display. A banner of fake leaves hung across the glass. Beneath it, hand lettering read, “Fall in love with reading.” From the leaves they’d hung a host of romances perfect for the season. And, of course, an empty shelf for the shop to add whatever book a passerby might need.
Now, it seemed, the shop wanted her to put witchy books on display. “We need something catchy for the window,” she said to kitten. “Maybe, ‘Reading is magical?’ Is that too corny?”
Ink looked up at her, tail twitching, and meowed in response before he started swiping his paw at one of the dangling books.
“That’s not a no.”
Florence shifted away from the banner, trying not to drop the kitten and the paperbacks along with him. Ink meowed in protest before leaping off the stack and slinking away to make mischief elsewhere, leaving Florence even more alone than before.
As she considered the window display, Owen appeared on the other side of glass. Their eyes met, and he held up a bag of lemons and several cans of kitten food. After everything that had happened, Florence forgot he promised to come back.
Despite the unfamiliar warmth in her chest, she willed her smile away. She was glad Owen was there, in more ways than one, but most importantly because he was in danger at Honeysuckle House. Even if she hadn’t grown close to him yet, she could feel desire turning the pages of her heart, and she feared that would be enough to make him a target for her family’s curse.
She reached the door before he did and held it open, the tinkling of the bell overhead mirroring an unwelcome flutter in her chest that she promptly ignored. Until she could get him to agree to stay away from Honeysuckle House, she couldn’t risk even thinking how nice it was to be shorter than someone for once—by at least five inches!—or how seeing him cast an unexpected light into far corners of her heart she’d long abandoned. He smiled down at her.
Before Florence could say anything, Ink shot out the door and wound his way around Owen’s legs. “I guess wet food was the right choice.” He held out the bag of lemons and said, “I wasn’t sure how many you needed. I figured the more the better.”
Florence was starting to think there weren’t enough lemons in the world to protect her family. “At this rate, my sister probably needs them more than I do.”
“I can bring some back to Honeysuckle House with me,” Owen said.
Florence blinked at him. “You’re going back there?”
He tilted his head to the side. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Don’t tell me Evie is already letting people in the house again.” Florence’s anger took the place of the shame that had settled into her.
“I’m not following,” Owen said.
“Wait. You don’t know?” At his blank look, she said, “Honeysuckle House caught fire.”
Owen’s eyes flashed with something Florence couldn’t quite read. He covered his mouth with his hand and glanced out the shop windows as if he could see the house from there. “I heard someone talking about a fire at the store, but I didn’t realize … Is your family okay?”
“They were here when it happened,” Florence said.
“And the house?” he asked. “The bees?”
Florence hadn’t even thought about the bees. At that moment, her phone vibrated. She fished it out to find Angela’s name staring up at her.
The house is okay. Evie and Clara are staying with me tonight. We’ll be here a little longer if you think you can manage it.
A little bubble popped up showing Angela was typing something else. Then it disappeared, reappeared, disappeared, until, finally, one last message came through.
I know it would mean a lot to Evie.
Florence stared at her phone, the anxiety that had wound itself up in a knot in her chest finally starting to unravel.
“It looks like the house is okay.” Florence set the lemons down near the register and leaned against the counter for support. Then, she mumbled, “I should be there.”
