Page 29 of Hand-Fasting and Other Hazards
The Charis Foundation’s sign hung above the door, its letters catching the golden light of the setting sun. Nia should be finishing work soon—or perhaps she’d already finished, or her work had taken her to another part of Stella Rune. Lochlan didn’t know, and Nia hadn’t said.
No text. No call. Nothing since she’d rushed out the door that morning.
She’d been flustered, darting out so fast she hadn’t even glanced at breakfast. He told himself it didn’t matter. He’d made it for her, wanted her to sit, to stay. Maybe that hadn’t been a fair thing to expect. He’d hoped to recapture the gentle, unexpected comfort of eating together the previous night. But, he reminded himself, Nia hadn’t asked for that.
And then, of course, she’d fallen down his stairs.
Lochlan exhaled hard and raked a hand through his hair. He hoped she was alright.
The warm, yeasty smell of the sandwich shop’s bread drifted down the emptying street, mixing with the scent of his cookies. It should have been comforting, but unease twined through him instead.
He wasn’t in a position to demand answers.
Still, he’d finished his restoration project for the book shop early, and dropping it off was a perfectly reasonable excuse to swing by Charis around the time Nia had finished work the day before.
Restoring books for New Chapter wasn’t part of Lochlan’s work at the Videt. But a few years ago, he’d stopped by and seen the aftermath of a botched repair—a stitched-up relic, barely holding together. It had bothered him enough that he’d made an offer: bring him anything delicate, and he’d fix it. He hadn’t expected to keep at it. But he liked the work. The puzzle of it. The feeling of restoring something lost.
And the shop’s owner and her father never turned down his baking.
Shaking off his unease, Lochlan stepped forward and pushed open the antique door. A bell chimed overhead, its cheerful tinkle as familiar as the scent of old paper wrapping around him.
Jimmy, an elderly witch with an ill-fitting toupee slightly askew, was perched at an ancient wooden table, a teacup halfway to his mouth. He squinted at Lochlan in confusion.
“It isn’t Friday,” his voice wavered with age and suspicion. “Right?”
Lochlan placed the box of cookies in front of him. “No, it’s still Wednesday. I finished the book early for Helen.”
Every Friday, like clockwork, Lochlan delivered his weekly project to Helen, Jimmy’s daughter and the shop’s owner. Today, she emerged from behind a beaded curtain, pushing it aside with one hand while patting the front of her overalls for her glasses with the other.
“Lochlan!” she exclaimed, her tone warm but surprised. “It isn’t Friday.”
“I finished early,” he repeated.
Helen frowned, tilting her head. “I don’t have your next book in yet—it’s coming all the way from bumfuck nowhere.”
“Language,” Jimmy croaked through a mouthful of cookie, crumbs sprinkling the table.
Helen waved him off. “The tracking says it’ll get here Thursday.”
“I’ll come back Friday morning to pick it up,” Lochlan replied.
“With more cookies?” Jimmy asked, his eyes twinkling as he took another bite.
Helen rolled her eyes.
Lochlan managed a genuine smile as his eyes bounced between the two witches. But even as they bantered around him, his thoughts drifted back to Nia.
Lochlan said his goodbyes and stepped out of New Chapter. He took several steps down the sidewalk, then paused halfway between the bookstore and The Charis Foundation.
Nia might still be there.
Would it be crossing a line to go looking for her?
The question burned in his mind, tangled with doubts. Their arrangement was barely a day old—fragile and untested. In the little time they’d spent together, he hadn’t managed to get to know her any better, really, and she hadn’t made any headway in proving her father wrong.
The thought made him hesitate. Then, reluctantly, he turned to head home.
A crash shattered the quiet.
