"First of all, rude." I toss a price tag at her. "Second, I own this place, so no dramatic job-quitting for me. And third, Amelia and Vinnie are dragging me to dinner, but I'llprobably be in bed by nine," I say, like that's just who I am now. Not someone who used to make themed playlists and wear a tiara on her birthday.
"Are your parents flying in from wherever they are now?"
"Bali. They're studying with some spiritual community there, teaching philosophy workshops or something." I shrug. "They offered, but I told them not to worry about it."
"Your parents are so on brand with their Zen-master thing. But you're turning twenty-six, not sixty," Zara hops off her stool to head for the cart of new books.
"Birthdays are different these days." I start organizing receipts. "Like, remember when turning thirteen was this massive deal? Now it's just another reminder that I'm not where I thought I'd be yet."
"Where did you think you'd be?"
"Oh, you know . . ." I trail off. "I had this whole vision. The cute little house with the white picket fence, maybe some kids running around in the backyard, a garden full of herbs . . ." I snort softly.
The truth is, I could've been dating. Should've been, probably. But every time Amelia and Vinnie try to set me up with a perfectly nice guy, I find some reason why it's not quite right. Not quite . . . enough.
Which is ridiculous, because the alternative is what? Waiting around for some mythical perfect person who probably doesn't exist? Or worse, waiting for someone whodoesexist, but isn't ready to be who I need him to be. Someone who still thinks love is a punchline.
"Instead, I'm living alone with Salem. The other day, I seriously caught myself watching baby duck videos at two a.m., wondering if I could turn my tiny backyard into some sort of mini farm sanctuary."
"Wait, are we talking about those adorable ducklings in rain boots?" Zara perks up. "Because I saw those, and honestly? You shouldtotallyget ducks. Or chickens! Fresh eggs, built-in pest control! Plus they're basically tiny dinosaurs."
"You're supposed to talk meoutof my quarter-life crisis farming dreams," I chuckle, but I'm already picturing it. "Though Salem would love having some feathered siblings."
"Please get ducks," Zara begs. "We could dress them up for the shop's Instagram. Think of the marketing potential!"
"I'll think about it," I make a note to research what I would need to raise tiny little ducklings.
"Oh, can you get more of that face cream from your Grams when you see her? I swear my skin's gotten so much better since I started using it," Zara says, adjusting a display of romance novels.
I stifle a laugh. The cream she's obsessing over is literally just rose water and basic moisturizer that Grams whips up while bingeing Golden Girls. But looking at Zara's warm brown skin dotted with freckles, I doubt she needs any help in that department.
"Sure, I'll ask her when I visit her next. Though you could just splash some water on that face and call it a day."
"Shut up," she grins, tucking a curl behind her ear.
"How's that art project going? The one you were stressed about?"
"Done!" She brightens. "Professor loved my concept. Incorporating tarot imagery in modern photography. She said it was, and I quote, 'delightfully subversive.'"
"Translation: you actually studied instead of scrolling on your phone all shift?"
"Hey! I multitask!"
I retreat behind the counter to finish blending my Love Actually tea. A bestseller, ironically enough. I measure chamomile, rose, and lavender with practiced ease, letting my mind drift. There's a kind of peace in this. The gentle click of dried petals hitting glass, the way certain herbs just know they belong together, like they've been waiting to create something greater than their parts.
The bell chimes and Zara goes rigid next to me. I glance up to see a guy around her age hovering by the crystal display,trying way too hard to seem interested. Dark, messy hair falls into his eyes as he pretends not to glance in our direction.
"Who's that?" I whisper as Zara attempts to disappear behind the stock list. He sneaks another glance at her.
"Just some guy from my class," she mumbles.
"Uh huh." I hide my smile as he picks up a sage bundle like it's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen. "And he just happened to drive twenty minutes from Brookside to browse in Hallow's End?"
"Shut up," she hisses, but her cheeks pink. "Jacob probably just needed . . . something."
"Oh, he needs something alright," I murmur, noting him hold a romance novel upside down. "Zara, he hasn't looked at a single item for more than three seconds since he came in. Except you."
"He has not—"
