“How long will you… be here?” I shouldn’t have asked it. I shouldn’t want to know.
I’m desperate to know and to run back home, tail tucked between my legs.
Gunner nudges his cold nose against my bare calf, whining softly.
He knows I’m upset. He’s my familiar, after all.
“I’m not sure yet.” Caleb looks like he knows damn well I’m upset too, but he’s smart enough not to say anything either. “I’ll let you get back to your run.”
“See you around,” I say, my voice chipper and high-pitched and wrong.
The little jaunty wave I give as I set back off for the boardwalk and home is wrong too, and it isn’t until I make it back inside the old Victorian that I realize it’s not just sweat dripping down my cheeks.
I broke up with him for the best reasons, for the same reason all four of us Romantic girls stay out of relationships.
Because we’re cursed and love only ever brings us pain.
As I cry softly in the shower, Gunner’s nails clicking on the floor as he paces in the bathroom, though, I wonder, not for the first time, if it would have been better if I’d never met Caleb at all.
“I can’t believe he’s back,” Gunner says, voice quiet and unexpected.
Sniffling, I keep washing my hair, surprised he’s speaking at all.
He doesn’t talk as much as my sister’s familiars, and thankfully not nearly as much as Prudence, a cat that’s one of my best friend’s familiars.
“Don’t cry, Ivy.” Gunner’s nose presses against the wavy glass, and I hiccup a little laugh between cries. “You said you would always be friends, remember? Don’t let this ruin your day.”
“I won’t,” I say, sighing shakily.
It won’t ruin my day.
Caleb being back in town will probably ruin the rest of the year.
Because how do I go back to pretending I’m not still in love with someone when that person is right in front of me again?
Three
Even my favorite dress, cream polka dots splashed over sensible navy, doesn’t do much to lift my mood.
I avoided my sisters, slipping out and heading to Sugar & Salt with Gunner on his leather leash. My favorite red Doc Marten Mary Janes, well-worn and comfortable, feel extra heavy today, but the key turns in the backdoor without any problems.
“I keep waiting for something bad to happen,” I tell Gunner quietly.
No one is here yet; I’m always the first to work, but I learned early that talking to your dog like it’s going to talk back can be frowned upon.
“That’s a terrible way to live life,” Gunner replies, and I sigh, running a hand over his silken ears. “I think you should try eating a bone and taking a long nap.”
That makes me laugh, and Gunner’s tail wags as I lock the door behind me, flicking on the lights in the backroom, where we store bulk ingredients and overstock packaging. Even here, though, the smell of taffy and chocolate and sugar perfumes the air. There’s an ancient green velvet couch with a threadbare spot where Gunner likes to nap on rainy days, and a warm walnut roll-top desk that was my great-grandfather’s. My laptop sits onit, ready for me to tweak the website where most of Sugar & Salt’s off-season orders come from.
“We’ll have to turn half the front counter into a packing station,” I say out loud, and Gunner grunts next to me.
“You can’t just ignore your problems, Ivy. Especially the ones named Caleb.”
“I’m not ignoring them,” I snap then pinch the bridge of my nose. “And Caleb isn’t a problem. We both know I can’t have a relationship with him. And if something we’re really wrong, I’d be having a vision.”
That might be what hurts the most.
That I haven’t had a vision about him.
