Page 4 of The Guy Sure Looks Like Plant Food To Me
Of course Chewie was the reason she came at all, she’s the reasonanyonehas been bothering to come by the shop, the reason I’ve had any sales at all in the last four months. This plant has been the only thing keeping me from going out of business, but now with her size, I just can’t keep her out front anymore.
The community will get skeptical, suspicious, and a man-eating, blood vomiting plant is bound to raise some red flags.The last thing I need is for a SWAT team to come crashing through my ceiling while men in suits try to steal my plant for laboratory testing.
Mabel chuckles, “Of course I understand, Runa, darling. I’m not one to stop a fated encounter. Just be sure to send my cancellation fee by the end of the week, and we can reschedule at your convenience. My clients will understand.”
My stomach drops.Her cancellation fee. I don’t have the strength in me to even ask what she means about the fated bullshit.
I run to my filing cabinet, hands still stained with blood from cleaning the floors all night from Chewie’s stomach bug. Yes. I’m calling a Rolex lodged inside her throat a stomach bug, who can stop me?
Rummaging through my files, I pull out the contracts I sign with guest witches and … there it is. The same stipulation on both sides. If either party is to cancel with less than seventy-two hours’ notice, the person canceling will pay a fee of fifty percent of the bookings missed.
I’m pretty sure I’m the one who added that stipulation. Instead of renting out the room per day or hourly, I take a small percentage of the booking instead. Something I found to be beneficial to both sides, and didn’t require the guest witch to cough up a ton of money to reserve the space.
I groan, slumping onto the floor in pitiful desperation. Just what I needed.
“Did you hear me, Runa?” The psychic’s voice brings me back to the phone between my shoulder and ear.
“Yes, Mabel. I’ll send that over as soon as I can.” I hang the phone up before throwing it across the room in anger.
This is going to cost me a fortune.
It’s going to take me a million farmer’s market booths for the shop to cover this fee. I’m gonna be hocking rose quartz to eighteen-year-old college girls for the next six weeks.
Minimum.
I’m only half-considering dumping out my money offerings from Hecate’s altar for Mabel’s payment when the little bell hung above the door rings.
I thought I had switched the sign to closed.
“Hello?” A cheery voice calls from the entrance.
“We’re not open!” I shout back, stumbling over buckets of man goop I’m still cleaning off my bedroom floor.
I don’t hear another set of bell chimes to indicate the intruder’s leaving, instead I hear footsteps coming closer. Scrambling to move and meet them in the store in an attempt to keep Chewie hidden, I trip over an ankle bone and land flat on my face.
“I said we’re closed today!” I scream out frantically just as my bedroom door opens.
I’m on my hands and knees, blood, guts, and chunks all over my extremities, splattered over my face and bedroom walls when my eyes fall to the cutest leather Mary Jane’s. Perfect schoolgirl shoes with two silver, heart-shaped buckles on the outside of them and lace-frills socks that run up to her mid-calf.
My gaze is pulled up just from the sight of her legs, the muscles drawing up her knees where the few inches above her flesh is left to my imagination. A pink pleated skirt covers thick thighs and cinches at her waistline where a white, button-up shirt struggles to stay tucked in.
A ponytail matching the color of her skirt cascades down the front of her shirt over her shoulder, and falls just above her breast with purposeful shiny waves. There’s a lustrous gloss to her lips, perfectly full paired with eyelashes so long and darkthey don’t need mascara. She bats those pretty things in awe, her mouth parted, shock setting in as she takes the room before her.
I’m one hundred percent freaking out about hiding the obvious remnants of a murder scene that I haven’t even bothered to say anything aside from “Get out!”
However, the adorable stranger is already inside, and I’m left wondering if I’m going to be forced to feed her to my plant for dessert.
“Holy sh—!” She shouts, ocean-blue eyes clearer than crystals dilating.
“The shop is closed!” I yell again, standing to stop her from coming any further into my space.
I’m breathy, panting, gasping for air as I try to push her through the door back into the storefront but her gaze remains locked on Chewbacca. “What the hell is that?”
“Get out!” I scream, shoving her out of the supply room I’ve made my bedroom.
“You put the notice up about needing a plant … doctor … person … right?” She’s still trying to get past me to get back in the room.
“Your timing couldn’t be worse.” I’m sweating from every single pore in my body, my skin so damp from perspiration that when I lift my hand off from her arm, there’s a leftover imprint of dried blood from the night before.
