“Okay.”
“I been missin’ you real bad. You were always the brightest thing in my life, and—“
“I said okay!”
Henrik had been on a roll, the words pouring out of him, but as she interrupted him once more, pointing out she had agreed to...whateverhe was asking of her, he finally stopped and stared at her, like he hadn’t expected her to agree, or like he hadn’t thought very far ahead.
“Okay?”
“Okay. Yes. You can... come by and get to know me.”
Henrik was silent as he heard her full answer, and she waited for him to say something more, or to ask for something more of her. She was nervous. How much would he ask? Would he want a date? Would he come by regularly? Would he ask for more than she was willing to give?
How long was he here for? And, where had he been? What was his story? How was Garoureve? The fire... All she knew that night was the fire in the woods, big enough to destroy. Her mother had used her magic to put it out, drawing water from the earth and from the stream and from all of the wells to end the flames, but it had gone up so quickly, there was nothing more to be done to save anyone.
When people had demanded answers... had pointed fingers at her...
Did people still blame her? It would make sense. Of course they would blame her. The little witch who couldn’t control her abilities...
“Alright then,” he said with a nod, and backed up towards the door. He wasn’t looking over his shoulder, and she winced as he backed up into the window instead. So many years older, and yet, he was still clumsy. “Shit—“
“You have to watch where you’re going!”
“Can’t take my eyes off you.”
His words brought an immediate smile to her lips, and he grinned back before turning and heading out, leaving her standing there with flowers and tea.
“So...” Berk drawled from behind her. “I feel like now is the time for you to explain yourself...”
Her sass was back in gear as she whipped around and thinned her eyes at him. They had all worked together and been around one another for years. No one asked questions. No one judged. No one pried into each other’s private lives. Sure, some things were open, but she wasn’t an open book for them to read. They weren’t privy to her past, even after years of friendship. “Or you could just not ask questions.”
Berkley rolled his eyes, but he didn’t push any further.
Good. Because how the hell was she supposed to explain any of it?
Chapter 5
“What’sthatfor?”Violetasked, freezing in her tracks as she looked at what Henrik had in his hands.
It was a potted plant, and not one in a plastic flimsy container as she was used to seeing, but in a large pot with a dish, which could easily sit on a counter. The container itself was something straight from his grandmother’s house, porcelain and vintage, and she was almost scared to touch it.
And the flowers... it didn’t take an herbalist or florist to know what kind of plant he had brought her. Not when she had the flowers painted on the sign out front and tattooed on her very own body.
Violets. He had brought her a pot of violets.
“Your flowers were dyin’,” Henrik answered, as though that said everything it needed to.
Yes, the flowers he brought the previous week were dying, which is why she had thrown them away the night before while closing up. Cut flowers only lived for so long, of course.
She wouldn’t have been surprised if he brought her another cutting of flowers. Mrs. Sprouse frequently dropped off bundles of flowers, or someone who worked for her did, particularly ones which she could no longer sell. Having flowers on her counter was not unusual, and in fact, she had a small assortment of vases specifically for the cut flowers which were regularly dropped off.
But a potted plant? In a not normal pot? A potted violet plant.
He brought her a potted violet plant.
“Well, this one is going to die as well!” she pointed out, her voice picking up in pitch as she gestured to it. A plant. He brought her, with her brown thumb, a potted plant. “I mean, we both know I can’t grow anything to save my life!”
“You ain’t gonna kill it, Little Witch,” he said with a laugh and a shake of his head. “Not when I’m here every day to take care of it.”