Page 109 of A Curse On Black Lake
Grams’s work apron hangs next to mine, and I stare at it for a moment. It’s a thick canvas, stained over the years, but well worn and softened with time. I drag my finger over the fabric and reach for mine.
Donning it, I work on draining tinctures, mixing teas, melting salves. I restock some of the emptier shelves. Lottie comes in for a tincture to help her husband’s gout, and I don’t miss the look of surprise with Killian sitting in the corner drinking his coffee and reading his book. He’s kind of like a guard dog. But I like it.
She thanks me and leaves. I scoop mixed goat’s milk lotion into amber color jars, and a young woman comes in for a tincture to help her infant son’s toothaches. “I hope this helps. If not, come back. I have a few other ideas we can try,” I tell her.
“Thank you,” she says and leaves.
The hurt in my heart dulls a little because I finally had some customers. Maybe people are realizing that I might never be as great as my Grams, but I was taught by her. I can help heal people too.
I glance at Killian again and find him looking at me with a small smile on his lips. The look in his eyes makes me feel that excitement when flowers bloom from the first buds of the season, or the smell of rain after a dry spell. I like it when I find him staring at me. No one haseverlooked at me the way he does.
My tongue wets my lips, and his eyes spark.
“I’m done here for the day. But I need to check out back.”
I flip the sign closed and make a written sign for my new hours that work for Killian and me because he refuses to leave me here by myself.
I step outside in bare feet, and the warm breeze pushes my skirt back. Relief courses through me, and I feel like all my hard edges of grief are softening to acceptance.
The sun warms my skin as I walk through my herbs to the fruit trees. Grams and I planted peach trees, since they’re my favorite, but it will probably be another year until they are producing.
Killian and I water everything, and my last stop is the flower garden. The roses are growing strong, and my shoulders lighten.
The flowers I grow for myself are bursting with color and life. I smile and snip a ranunculus.
“Everything good over here?” Killian asks.
I hum and drag my finger over the small petal of a dahlia. Cutting a few more, I place them on the ground while I builda bouquet. Flowers make me happy, but I’ve been so busy I’ve barely had time to pay attention to them.
“Why are you standing there?” I ask him.
He grins. “Just watching.”
I roll my eyes in jest, and he tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. “I don’t know how you manage to keep getting more beautiful, but you do,” he says, dropping his hand from my face to rub the back of his neck.
“You thrive in this,” he says.
I grab another marigold. “When I was young, I didn’t appreciate all of what we do. It felt like an obligation. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned this is my calling. Yes, this is part of the Greer legacy, but every time I have my feet in the dirt, my hands on nature, the world doesn’t hurt so much.”
“There aren’t many places or people that have ever felt like that for me.” I meet his eyes, wondering if he catches my double meaning.
And I think he does as he grabs my chin and kisses me so sweetly I’m like a bee to honey. I want him to take charge. I want him to tell me what he wants, and I want to give it to him.
When he pulls back, he leans his dewy forehead against mine and releases my chin. What’s growing between us is overwhelming, and confusing. I’m not saying I love him because it would be far too fast to fall in love with someone you hardly know, even if you’ve lived mere miles from him your entire life. But Grams and Grandpa did.
The time between them didn’t matter because they knew. She told me she could feel it in her bones, but it wasn’t love at first sight. He asked her out. She said no. He asked her again, and the moment he held her hand, she told me it shocked her.
“What are you thinking about right now, little witch?” he asks, straightening.
Doubt creeps in, and I take a stuttered, breath afraid to be honest, and oddly afraid not to be. What if he changes his mind? What if I let him in and then he walks away? I wonder if that might hurt more because it would be his choice. It wouldn’t be because God said it was his time. It would be because he doesn’t want me anymore. There’s been enough people around me that want nothing to do with me. If I actually let him in, then … can I live through that? Could I survive more heartbreak? My chest tightens, and the pressure bleeds into my shoulders.
The sun beats on my back, and I look up at Killian, and his focus is totally, and completely on me. He wants an answer.
Deep down I know the answer, but I’m not ready to say it.
He drags a thumb over my lower lip. “You know where I stand. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”
Then he turns, walking down the rows of mint and lavender. I stare at his broad back, and my feet itch to move, to go to him. He said he would wait. He said he would be there for me. He’s done everything he said he would, and more. That has to meansomething.
