Page 21 of Violet Thistlewaite Is Not a Villain Anymore
“Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “It’s my mother’s recipe.”
She almost cracked a smile at managing to squeeze civility outof him. Maybe compliments about his family were the way out of the pit of derision he’d clearly dropped her into. “Is she an apothecary as well?”
His expression soured. “Was. She and my father owned this store until their passing last year.”
“Oh.” She swallowed. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
The words tasted foreign on Violet’s tongue—she’d been around her share of death but never the aftermath, never the expression on Nathaniel’s face now, fleeting pain quickly bricked up behind his usual mask of indifference. It was enough, though, for Violet to see what she must have done to those left standing after she decimated fields of crops or destroyed someone’s home.
You’re good now, she reminded herself like a mantra.Be good. Be better than before.
“I’d like to buy it,” she blurted, holding up the pot of cream when Nathaniel’s brows furrowed. “Please.”
“Oh. Well, yes. Alright.”
She met him at the front counter, where she slipped a few coins his way. He left them where they were and rolled up his sleeves, exposing surprisingly muscular forearms as he wrapped her purchase neatly in brown paper and twine. Violet froze, staring. It stood to reason, of course, that he’d always had nice arms, that they’d always been there just beneath his sleeves. But she’d had no cause to look at them before. Now she knew they were there, and something about the way he flexed as he tied the package with a length of twine and slipped a sprig of dried lavender through the bow suggested to Violet that she would always be aware of them now, whether she liked it or not.
She turned her attention nervously to the shelves behind him.Think about something else, Violet, she urged herself.
“So many empty jars,” she blurted. It seemed much better than exclaiming,You have surprisingly attractive arms, but he stiffenedas if she’d said it anyway. She hastily added, “You must do good business to be so low on stock.”
Judging by his expression, she might have been better off making the arms comment.
“Some of our ingredients are quite costly to replace,” he said coldly, all but throwing her purchase at her. “Not all of us can grow our stock from thin air.”
Just like that, the brief allure she’d felt turned right back to frustration. Violet fought the thorns that rippled suddenly beneath her skin.Control, Violet. No dark magic. Be good.“I only meant to pay you a compliment.”
“Then you should choose your words more carefully.”
Magic bubbled up inside of her like soap suds. “What is it that you want from me?” Violet snapped. “What can I possibly do to make you happy?”
She focused on one of the jars behind her and concentrated hard, pulling magic like a stubborn weed whose roots clung to the soil. She swung her arm toward the counter where he stood, her fist clenched around a thick handful of fresh mugwort, its root system bare from the air in which she’d conjured it.
Nathaniel stared at it, then at her. “I…” he said weakly. She didn’t move, still holding it out to him. When he finally reached for it, she clasped her fingers around his, holding the mugwort between them.
“I’ll tell you whatIwant,” she said forcefully. “Iwantto make a home here in Dragon’s Rest. Iwantto stop stepping on your toes with every move I make.”
His expression was void of emotion, a handsome statue upon which she wished she could read a smile, some kindness, even pity—anything.Her voice was softer, woven with a plea when she asked, “Moons, can’t you find it in you to at leasttryto like me, even a little bit?I’mcertainly trying.”
“I…” he said again, staring at their conjoined hands. His skin was warm, and his strong fingers tightened around hers in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Violet suddenly remembered his stupid gorgeous forearms and realized just as suddenly that she didn’t remember the last time she’d held someone’s hand.
Nathaniel withdrew from her grasp with a stiff sort of urgency and examined the mugwort. Violet ignored the way her palm felt cold without the contact. After close inspection, he said, “I don’t believe your plants will have the same level of medicinal efficacy, if any, as true herbs.”
Oh, not the “useless” argument again.
Any goodwill she had mustered for him withered away. “There is no pleasing you, I see,” she snapped, piling her purchase atop the crate she’d come for in the first place. “Good day, Mr.Marsh.”
His face flashed with alarm, as if realizing at last that he’d been a royal ass, but he said nothing, only watched her as she turned tail and left the shop.
Back in the safety of her own store, Violet let loose a growl, and a wave of power rippled from her, knocking over a display of seeds she’d set up only that morning. Bartleby shuddered and brandished a knife at her, but Violet was too irritated to do more than roll her eyes at him.
“Do me a favor and throw that at the bad-tempered apothecary next door,” she snarled, but when Bartleby’s aim turned rather enthusiastically toward the wall that separated her shop from Nathaniel’s, she relented.
“I didn’t mean it,” she said with a sigh, disarming the petulant pothos before she became an accessory to murder. “We’re good now, remember? That means no homicide.” Bartleby grasped angrily at her wrists, swiping for the knife back as she danced out of his reach.Hehad never promised to renounce his ways, she supposed.
She set her newly retrieved blade to the task of levering open the crate.
“He’s an infuriating man, though,” Violet grumbled. “Rough around the edges, indeed.”
