But he never did.
She flopped onto the bed with a groan, staring atthe cracked ceiling above. “If you’re up there, Bailey, I hope you’re laughing. Because this? This is hell.”
The cottage creaked again, but this time, it almost felt like an answer.
She turned her head on the pillow, her gaze snagging on the stack of overdue bills teetering at the edge of her desk. The sight made her stomach twist. With a long, slow sigh, she closed her eyes. Maybe tonight’s madness would put a dent in some of those. But even if it did, how was she supposed to cover next month’s bills on top of everything else she already owed?
A dull ache bloomed behind her eyes, and she cursed Oli under her breath for tampering with her headache potion. She could really use it right now.
Her teeth pressed into her bottom lip. Maybe he was right. Maybe if she wanted to keep Bailey’s shop—and his house—she’d have to adapt, bend with the times. But even the thought felt suffocating, like burying another piece of herself.
Like another death.
A tear slipped down her cheek, and she didn’t bother to wipe it away. When the groan of her bedroom door echoed softly, she kept her eyes shut. She didn’t need to open them. The runes carved into the cottage made sure only one other soul besides hers could enter uninvited.
Oli slid beneath the blanket without ceremony, his warmth pressing against her side. She hated how instantly it calmed her, as if his very existence were a weighted blanket draped over her frayed nerves.
“I’m sorry, Maude,” he said, voice softer than she was used to hearing. “I went overboard.”
She sighed, letting her head fall against his shoulder. “You’re just trying to help.”
He pulled her closer, tucking her under his arm and resting his chin on the top of her head. “You made a boatload of money tonight. If this keeps up, I’m going to start expecting you to buy my coffee every morning.”
Maude snorted. “Fine, but only if I get to hex anyone who cuts in line.”
“Done,” Oli said, squeezing her shoulder. “But if you do, at least make it something funny.”
Maude shook her head, the tension in her chest easing just a little more.
“You’re keeping the shop,” Oli said firmly. “Whatever it takes, we’ll figure it out.”
Oliver had offered more times than Maude could count to help pay off her bills or fix up the house, but she refused every time. Too proud to accept his charity, just like Bailey had been. It was a stubborn streak she’d inherited, and if anything, she clung to it tighter now than ever.
“What about the bakery boy?”
“What aboutthe bakery bastard?”
Oli burst out laughing. “He’s nice, Maude. And his business is booming. Maybe do a Blightbend Way collaboration? You know, join forces, pool your talents. I’m sure he’d be up for it.”
Maude turned her head to glare at him. “I see right through you, Oliver Hale. Youwanthim. Let me guess—granting him that loan and loitering around my shop, hoping to catch his eye, hasn’t worked yet?”
Oli gasped. “Excuse me, I do notwanthim. He’s just nice. Full stop. Besides, he’s clearly not my type.”
“Yeah, sure. Whatever you say.”
Oli settled back into the pillows. “Just think about it.”
Maude didn’t respond, only stared at the ceiling, listening to his breathing slow until he started snoring. Her mind raced. Oliwasright about one thing—the bakery bastard’s business was booming. His frosted monstrosities were scaring away her customers and turning Blightbend Way into a twee tourist trap. Maude didn’t need to “evolve” or “adapt to the times.” No, what she needed to do was destroy him. Wipe that smug, flour-dusted grin off his stupid, perfect face.
She smiled to herself, nudging closer to Oli as a calm settledover her. For the first time in weeks, she drifted off peacefully, dreaming of all the ways she could ruin him.
By the time the first light of dawn filtered through the crooked blinds of the Elixir Emporium, Maude’s plan had crystallized into something deliciously wicked. As she wiped down the counters and rearranged jars of herbs, she turned the details over in her mind like a well-rehearsed script.
A spell—small, subtle, unassuming.
It wouldn’t hurt anyone. Notpermanently, at least. Just enough to nudge Wesley’s bakery toward sabotage. The kind that would make customers wrinkle their noses and second-guess every bite.
She smirked, reaching for a bundle of dried mugwort and twisting the brittle stems in her hands. Slow and steady—that was the beauty of it. His business would crumble bit by bit until he had no choice but to pack up and leave Blightbend Way for good.
