Chapter 33

After fillinghis prescription at a local pharmacy, she ends up at a thrift shop. Mostly because she doesn't know his size and she hates dealing with returns, but also because she suspects he's less likely to fight her on the watch if she can keep the costs down. Plus, she still has to grab groceries and toiletries, so she'll save where she can.

She hobbles straight to the men's section. The crutch is uncomfortable under her armpit, but she's too busy scanning the racks with mounting glee to notice much.

They're full of plaid.

By the timeshe comes home, he's torn through a box and a half of cereal. One of them lies empty beside him as he shovels another spoonful of chocolate-flavored cereal into his mouth. When he sees her, he quickly swallows his bite, gesturing to the bowl enthusiastically with his spoon. "This is… I've always found the look of it quite unappealing, but it's delicious."

His excitement over cereal is nothing short of endearing. "Wait till you try ice cream." Then she spies what he's wearing below the table and blinks. "Those are my sweatpants."

It's stating the obvious, but seeing him in her pink sweats—so short on him they look more like capris—has her brain short circuiting.

He looks down at himself, shrugging. "My trousers were dirty. Besides," says, nose wrinkling in distaste, "after two centuries, I'd be just as happy to burn them." He puts his hands in the pockets, smiling giddily. "I must say, while I wouldn't dream of wearing them in front of company, they are quite cozy."

"They're also very, very pink."

He waves her off. "Color is nothing more than a social construct."

"A lot of guys would disagree."

"A lot of guys would be cowards," he says primly. "Though I dare say I'll let you keep the other pair. I still find the labeling of one's buttocks to be peculiar at best."

Setting the bags on the table, Sara fights a smile. The thought of him wearing the pair with ‘juicy' stamped across the backside is both hilarious and somehow… arousing? Probably something to do with him still walking around shirtless.

She pulls his antibiotics out of her purse, setting it in front of him. "One every twelve hours."

"Thank you," he murmurs, already screwing off the cap. A pill lands in his palm and he pops it into his mouth before swallowing it down with a gulp of milk leftover from his bowl of cereal.

Then he stands, reaching for the bags of clothing. The waistline of her sweats stretches with him, pulling the fabric low on his hips, and Sara flushes ten shades of red as she realizes her crucial mistake. "I forgot underwear."

He jerks, eyes wide and voice a notch higher. "What?"

"I forgot to buy you underwear."

"Oh. Well, that's fine."

She bites her lip to stifle her smile as she starts unpacking the grocery bags. "Pervert."

His mouth tightens. Suddenly, he's much more interested in investigating the clothes she brought home. He looks through the first bag, his hand pausing when he sees that one is full of plaid. The glare he shoots her is venomous.

She shrugs, trying for innocent. "That's all they had."

"Somehow, I'm not inclined to believe you."

"Would you forgive me if I told you I got cake mix, too?"

"… Possibly." The smile teasing his lips says otherwise. "Is it the one with the—"

"The ridiculous rainbow chips?" Sara finishes, grinning. "So little faith."

His laugh is nothing more than a huff of breath, but it's so genuinely pleased it makes her heart ache. She busies her hands, folding her reusable bag and wondering how to address their evening plans. "By the way… do you feel up to dinner tonight?"

He's still picking through the clothing—disgust warring with gratitude. "As opposed to going hungry? Certainly."

She shakes her head. "No, I meant—last night. Miles asked if we could do dinner. Tonight. At their place."

He stills, eyes finding hers. "Is it an invitation or an execution?"

Sara rolls her eyes. "He didn't exactly get the whole story last night, Seth. And Jen—"

"You don't need to justify it," he grouses. "I'm merely curious. He doesn't seem to be my biggest fan."

"Yeah, well, in his defense, you weren't exactly looking like prime boyfriend material, last night." She's teasing when she says it, but the way his lips thin and his brows draw together—the way he seems happy to look at anything but her—makes her smile fall flat. She can't tell if he's upset with the assumption or the poor first impression.

"So, yeah, anyway," she mumbles, fingers picking at the folded corner of the bag. "Do you think you're up for it?"

"Do you want me there?"

It's such a ridiculous question, it inspires a breathy laugh. "Don't be stupid. Of course I want you there. But if you're too tired, I totally understand."

He wets his lips. "Very well, then." He runs a hand over his jaw, wincing at the stubble. "I don't suppose you remembered a razor? If I'm to be forced to wear that ghastly print, I would like to do so with a clean face."

Sara sifts through the bag, finding the razor at the bottom, and hands it to him. "Do you remember how to use it?"

"Your faith in me is nothing short of astounding."

Sara does her best to hide her smile. She's not nearly as successful when, half an hour later, he emerges from the bathroom with pieces of tissue paper decorating his jaw.

Before she can comment, he shoots her a warning glare. "Say nothing."

He's been fidgetingwith his shirt the entire drive over—the cuffs, the buttons. Sara finds his petulant frown hilarious, but she does feel a little bad about the hint of unease she sees straining his eyes. She wonders if first impressions are more or less stressful when you know the person, but they know nothing about you.

"Will you stop messing with it?" she says, giving him a gentle nudge with her shoulder as they wait on the front step. In the grocery bag looped over his wrist is the cake she promised him. The frosting is a little melted—she should have let it cool longer—but she hopes he'll be pleasantly surprised by the taste. "It looks fine."

"That's impossible," he grumbles, but his fingers stop plucking at his cuff. "But with your skewed sense of fashion, I have no doubt you believe it."

Sara lets the snarky comment slide, linking her arm through his and giving a gentle squeeze. The effect is immediate. The tension slides off his body like oil on water, the harsh line of his scowl softening into a subtle smile that hints at gratitude. "It's going to be fine," she tells him.

"Your optimism is adorable."

The door opens before she can answer, Jen's tiny frame filling the doorway. "Hi! Oh my gosh, I'm so happy to meet you! I'm Jen, Sara's best friend since forever." She's so excited, she's practically vibrating.

Sara knows it's coming, but the smaller girl's arms wrap around Seth in a friendly (and awkward with the cake between them) hug before she can put a word in to stop it.

Seth grunts, flinching.

Jen pulls back, horrified. "Oh! Oh god, I'm so sorry! I totally forgot—are you ok?"

"Quite," Seth wheezes, smile strained. The hand holding the cake sports white knuckles. "Lovely to meet you. Officially."

Jen's nose wrinkles. "Officially?"

A dagger would be duller than the glare Sara sends her best friend's husband. "You didn't tell her?!"

Miles holds up his hands. "If you thought, for one minute, I was going to even try to explain that level of crazy, you're tripping."

Jen looks between them, smile faltering. "What—"

"Let's continue this conversation inside," Seth says, cutting her off before she can finish asking. "Shall we?"

Nodding hesitantly, Jen gives Miles a questioning look as she steps aside for them to come in.

Miles meets her stare. "Don't look at me like that. Baby, trust me. You're gonna need to hear this shit straight from the source."

Sara swats him on the arm as she hobbles past.

Jen frowns,her food barely touched and her fork balancing idly between her fingers. Sara's not sure if it's made it to her lips even once. "So you were dead."

Seth doesn't seem to be having the same problem (he's already helped himself to three more pieces of garlic bread). He twirls the spaghetti around his fork, frowning when the pasta doesn't cooperate. He sighs. "No, no. I was cursed. Quite different."

Jen still seems to be struggling to process everything, but she's handling it better than her husband had. "But you were invisible."

"To anyone outside of Sara, yes."

"But then she broke the curse."

"She did."

"How?"

Seth grins. "I'm afraid that's classified."

Beside her, Miles rolls his eyes and takes another long drink of wine. Sara's not exactly sure what glass he's on. "She kissed him."

Sara's cheeks grow hot (Jen's excited squeal doesn't help). She catches Seth's surprised stare before she hides her face in her hands.

"It's like a fairytale!" Jen sighs, hand clasped to her chest.

"Maybe minus the bullet and stab wounds," Miles grumbles.

Sara sneaks a glance at Seth's expression, but he seems more uncomfortable by Jen's enthusiasm than embarrassed. She wishes she could say the same. "Cake," Sara blurts, skin hot. "I'm gonna grab the cake."

"Sit down," Miles scolds, already pulling out his chair. "You gotta stop walking on that boot."

"I was going to use my crutch," she grumbles, even though it's a total lie. She's eighty percent sure he's more concerned with taking her escape route for himself than her actual foot.

Miles responds with, "Yeah, right" the same moment Seth says, "Doubtful." There's a grudging respect in the fleeting glance they share, but Sara knows better than to point it out.

Jen's lips purse, a sad attempt at smothering her smile. She saw it, too. "Guys, I have a great feeling about all this."

"Your optimism is charming," Seth says, shifting in his seat. "However, I still suspect the ‘fun' in the name is more advertising than truth."

Jen looks ready to correct him, but Sara sees his words for what they are—an effort to change the subject. "It's rainbow chips," Sara says. "Big difference."

Catching on, Jen looks between them curiously, but goes with it. "She's right. Chocolate is way better than sprinkles."

"I don't know why you always gotta hate on my sprinkles like that," Miles says, setting the cake on the table with one hand and a stack of old paper plates with the other. Sara recognizes the plates as being leftover from her birthday dinner.

"It's not about the sprinkles, it's the frosting," Jen stresses, already cutting into the cake. She hands the first slice to Seth, her smile wide. "We'll make the other one next time. Maybe you can convince Miles that it's just his childhood nostalgia lying to him."

Seth's returning smile is small, but genuine as he takes the slice of cake from her. "I'll make no such promises." Taking a bite, he chews thoughtfully—his gaze meeting Sara's playfully. "It's… disgustingly sweet," he answers before his fork dives in for another bite. "But I suppose it's not terrible."

The ride home is quiet,but not really uncomfortable.

Sara knows he's tired. It's not that late by the time they get in the car, the clock just creeping past nine, but Seth wears his fatigue like a weight. Sara can see it pushing down on his shoulders and making his feet clumsy. Catching him nearly passing out at the dining table was what prompted her to head home in the first place. So when he falls asleep in the passenger seat on the ride home, the leftover cake clutched protectively on his lap, she's hardly surprised.

What does surprise her, is the awkwardness that comes after. When she wakes him gently, her hand on his shoulder, he leans away from her touch once he blinks the sleep from his eyes. Then they're walking, side by side, and there's something uncomfortable hiding behind in his silence that she just can't put her finger on. Something deeper than the hobbled echo of her single boot or the way he keeps adjusting his gait so she can keep up.

"I'm sorry," she blurts, her steps pausing. It's only when he stops too—when he looks at her with that baffled crease between his brows—that she continues. "If I made you uncomfortable. You looked… well, embarrassed, maybe? That Miles knew I kissed you."

Seth huffs, head canting to the side. She gets the sense that he's studying her expression as diligently as she is his and, somehow, that inspires more relief than discomfort. "Don't be ridiculous. You're the one who went red."

Sara shrugs her good shoulder, fighting the urge to chew her bottom lip. If she lets her gaze drop now, she's worried he'll drop his too. "I guess I wasn't really prepared for Jen to know. Her enthusiasm can be…"

"Overwhelming?"

The laugh she gives is breathy and short. "That's one way to put it."

He nods, the corners of his mouth curling into a subtle smile. "I was…surprised," he admits, his hand rising in an invitation to continue walking. "I didn't expect you to tell them."

Sara shrugs, limping forward . "After dropping the curse bomb, it seemed silly not to."

"And now?"

Sara frowns, looking at him. His face is carefully (infuriatingly) blank. "And now, what?"

He doesn't meet her eyes. "Do you wish it remained a secret?"

Sara's heart drops, her fingers grasping his sleeve urgently. "Do you?"

Seth has the decency to pause, sighing through his nose before giving her a disgruntled look over his shoulder. "It's bad manners to answer a question with a question."

"Yeah, because I'm really worried about that."

"It certainly wouldn't kill you to try on occasion."

"Ugh, you're ridiculous," she huffs, hobbling forward and linking their arms. She's relieved when he doesn't pull away.

The crutch makes it ten times more awkward than she'd like, but he moves with her as best he can. "I believe that's my line."

Before she can respond, her door comes into view and whatever words she might have said are lost. There's a huddled figure sitting, back pressed against the door and head resting on his folded arms. Sara knows who it is before his head lifts—she remembers buying the Carhartt jacket for him two Christmases ago. Beside her, she feels Seth's body go rigid.

David eyes their linked arms, cringing as he stands. "Hey."

"Hey," Sara murmurs. She doesn't know why he's there, but she has her suspicions.

He never was one to let things go.

"Can we talk?"

Sara chances a glance at Seth, but his expression is blank. She hates how good he is at hiding behind that mask. "Sure," she says, because the sooner she does, the sooner it will be over. She pulls her keys out of her purse and presses them into Seth's palm. When he finally meets her stare, she gives him her most encouraging smile. "Could you just set the leftover cake in the kitchen?"

There's a tension in his jaw that gives him away, but his voice remains even. "Of course."

"It'll just be a bit," she promises. She hopes he can hear all the things she leaves unsaid, but he's shielded his expression well enough that she can't be sure.

David waits until Seth has closed the door behind him, his blue eyes glaring daggers at his back, before he offers her his hand. "Do you need—"

"I'm fine," she says, adjusting her crutch. She doesn't want to offer him any reason, intended or not, to hope. "I got it."

His hands disappear into his jacket pockets, leaning back on his heels. Sara can't help but think that the motion is much more refined when Seth does it. "Can—I mean. Could we, I don't know, go for a walk or something?"

She stares at him. "My foot's in a boot."

"Oh. Right. Well, what about dinner? There's—"

"David," Sara sighs, shaking her head. "Just say what you came to say. Please."

"I'm sorry," he says, the words rushed. "For this morning. You were right. I don't—I shouldn't have expected—" His breathing is deep, his chest heaving with the force of it. "I just really want to make this work."

"David," she murmurs, voice soft. She sounds older, even to her own ears. Wiser. Maybe she is, because the past year has been a tangled mess of curses and miracles—of heartbreak and healing—and in it all, she found the one thing she hadn't been looking for. "I love him," she says, with so much feeling it would be impossible for David to deny the truth of it. "I love him and I'm happy."

She loves the way he only tells her good morning when she wakes up in a decent mood and isn't afraid to suggest she get herself a cup of coffee when she doesn't. She loves the way he explains things to her in a way that's simple enough for her to understand, but complex enough that she doesn't feel like he's talking down to her. She loves the way he tries.

The way he inspires her to be better; to be happy.

David runs a hand through his hair. The smile he gives her is strained. "That's really it then, isn't it?"

"Yeah," she murmurs. "It is."

"We can at least be friends, right?"

She knows the answer just as well as he does, but some truths hurt less when they hide behind white lies. Seth taught her that. "Sure."

Scuffing the toe of his boot against the rug, he looks down at his feet. "I'm going to miss you," he says, eyes raising. "Hell, I already do. Is that weird?"

"No," she answers, and this time it's honest. "But it'll get easier." One day, he'll hear her name and think of her as just an important person in that single stage of his life. A memory worth keeping, but not a relationship worth saving.

"I guess it has to, right?" he jokes, but the humor in his voice sounds as false as it is. He leans in, giving her an awkward half-hug. His breath tickles her hair. "Goodbye, Sara."

Sara returns it, lets herself take a moment to reflect how his arms somehow feel familiar and foreign all at once. "Live a good life, ok?"

"Ok," he promises, pulling away. "You too, yeah?"

Her smile is bright, free from the doubts that stain his. "I will. Goodbye, David."

He nods, shoving his hands in his pockets as he walks past her. Sara watches him leave and is glad when he never once looks back. A sigh, tired but relieved, leaves her. Suddenly, it feels so much later than it is. She's looking forward to finding out if Seth's arms will find themselves around her in the night, or if he'll give up on pretenses altogether. But when she finds him, he's fast asleep on the couch—so still that if it weren't for the deep rise and fall of his chest, she'd worry.

He looks so peaceful with Oma's crocheted blanket tucked up to his chin, Sara doesn't have the heart to wake him.