“It’s exquisite,” I whispered, wanting to touch it, but not daring to disturb it, even though I knew how ridiculous a thought that was.
Just in case, though.
“You’re happy with it?” Tristan asked, and I blinked hard, trying to fight back the sudden, unexpected surge of emotion.
I nodded. “Yeah.” I cleared my throat, then looked at him in the mirror, not realizing until that moment how close to me he was. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Ms. Not Interested,” he teased, breaking the unexpectedly thick tension in the room. “Seriously though… never seen you around here before. You from the city or something?”
“The city?”
“Blackwood,” he said, doing that thing again where he gestured in some nebulous direction like I was supposed to know what that meant.
I did, however, know I wasn’t from Blackwood, which was adjacent to the Heights – the neighborhood that had been my destination in the first place, by recommendation of my mentor.
“No,” I answered, but didn’t offer anything else, which made Tristan’s smile even broader.
“You’re really committed to this mysterious shit, huh?”
I returned his grin as I carefully fixed my shirt, taking pains not to disrupt the plastic covering my tattoo. “Yep. How do I settle up my bill? With you, or at the desk?”
“The desk,” he answered, tipping his head in that direction. “Pri will get you squared away, and give you a kit with some aftercare information, products, all that.”
“Nice. Well… thank you, again, for making the time. And for swooping in the other night, although I could’ve definitely handle it myself.”
He shrugged. “You shouldn’t have to handle it yourself. Shouldn’t have been shit to handle, really, but… such is life, right?” he asked, carefully peeling his gloves off to dispose. “In any case, I was doing my job. On both counts.”
“Too many people don’t do their jobs for that to go unappreciated, so again… thank you.”
This time, he nodded. “You’re welcome, swee—Tempest,” he remembered, grinning. “Will you at least tell me if I’ll see you around?”
Instead of a direct answer, I hiked my shoulders as I moved toward the open doorframe, knowing now that it was definitely time to move on.
“Maybe.”
Rain messed up my people watching.
Instead of congregating on the sidewalks and restaurant patios, everybody was driven inside, traveling in cars or under umbrellas, protecting themselves from the late spring downpour.
For three damn days.
Finally, sheer boredom drove me downstairs to the abandoned candle shop I’d been largely ignoring, mostly because it confused me.
What was the point of a whole shop for candles?
It struck me as kinda creepy, honestly.
From the front-facing store portion with all the half empty shelves and dust-covered merchandise wallowing in what seemed to be signature black jars, to the deserted workshop in the back.
There were boxes and boxes of the same jars from the front – empty, of course. Dozens of cartons filled with soy wax that was probably expired, fragrance oils well past the “use by” dates printed on the bottoms.
But, even in all its abandoned eeriness… it was kinda intriguing, too.
I opened all the scent oils, breathing them in and almost knocking myself out with the stench of several that had gone putrid. Looked in all the wax cartons, noting how the color of the wax seemed to correlate with expiration dates long passed. I examined the jars of different sizes and shapes, wrestled with spools of candle wick molded together with age. Wondered over what all the different accessories and tools and knick-knacks actually did.
So much shit to make something so simple.
Venturing to the front, I started pulling the cork tops off the already-made candles, curious about the scents chosen for each blend. The labels were all rudimentary, with mostly-faded names that offered no clues about what went in, and without even a proper store name.
Just, the candle shop.
“I guess you were really that bitch back then,” I said aloud… to the store, I guess. And then, “You are really fucking losing it,” to myself.
Because I was.
I needed to get my ass outta here.
Instead of doing that, I kept opening and smelling candles, until I was satisfied I’d taken in every scent.
There was one that was a clear favorite, and for the briefest of moments I thought about curing my boredom by trying to replicate it.
Then I decided I was probably hungry.
Little by very little, I’d been branching more and more into the neighborhood, familiarizing myself with what was available.
There was a lot.
Today’s interest lied in the restaurant at the fringes of my purview from the window – a spot frequented by locals and visitors alike, who all looked happy and full when they left.
Pot Liquor.
They had food, and I liked food, so… seemed like a match made in heaven.
I went back upstairs for my wristlet and keys, grabbing my umbrella on the way out. It was a wet walk, but in less than ten minutes I was walking through the doors of Pot Liquor, having my senses instantly assaulted by… warmth.
From all directions.
The rainstorm had brought a distinct chill with it, but the inside of the restaurant was nice and cozy.
And homey.
And bright.
It felt like stepping into a completely different reality from the gloominess outside, and the delicious aromas wafting from the kitchen felt indulgent at this point.
“Hey pretty girl, what can I get for you?” a woman called, from behind the front counter. I stopped my observation of the space to zero in on her – a beautiful woman a few shades lighter than me, with thick short-cropped curls.
More warmth.
“Um… this is my first time here, actually. So I’m not sure,” I told her, not fighting the urge to draw closer.
“That’s no problem – I’ve got recommendations, starting with the mac&cheese unless you’re lactose intolerant
