Sylvie barked out a laugh.
“That is the most chaotic business advice I’ve ever received.”
Arla beamed, entirely unbothered, and nodded toward the “Help Wanted” sign still taped to the window.
“Have you hired anyone yet?”
Sylvie hesitated, her fingers twisting lightly in her apron strings.
“I had someone apply yesterday,” she admitted. “He had… little hooves. And a perfectly fitted vest. With matching shorts.”
“Oh! Juju!” Arla’s face lit up.
“Who?”
“Julian! Everyone calls him Juju. He’s a faun.” She waved a hand as if that explained everything. “They’re absolute experts at making lush, creamy coffees. You’d be lucky to have him. I was always telling Seth to upgrade the coffee, but he never had the business sense to follow through.”
“Well…” Sylvie shifted her weight. “I didn’t exactly hire him.”
Arla raised a brow.
“Why not?”
Sylvie didn’t want to admit she had panicked. Managing the Other felt overwhelming—especially when one particularly large, amber-eyed man had recently left her more rattled, and more turned on, than she cared to admit.
“I asked for his CV,” she said weakly.
Arla blinked slowly.
“Oh.”
“If you need references,” Arla continued briskly, “Myrtle could give you some. He’s been helping her with tonics and potions.”
“Who’s Myrtle?”
“She’s part of the local witch coven. Good with a cauldron, better with a gin and tonic.”
Of course she is.
Sylvie took a breath.
“That’s fine. I’m sure he’s excellent. I’ll… I’ll call him.”
Arla’s gaze swept the shop—the half-painted trim, the towers of boxes, Seth’s leftover belongings lurking on shelves like mildly cursed souvenirs.
“You absolutely need an extra pair of hands. Unless you want to collapse from exhaustion before the first croissant is sold.”
Sylvie glanced at the windows.
“First I need to take down these curtains and move them upstairs. Someone told me I attract werewolves.”
Arla smirked, a wicked glint in her eye.
“Marco will help with that once he fixes the corridor lighting,” she said, nodding toward the yawning man.
Marco gave a slow, resigned nod—the expression of someone who would rather be in bed than on a ladder with a screwdriver and facing a pair of dusty curtains.
Arla pointed toward the wooden unicorn statue lingering in the corner.
