12. Wisteria
Ican't breathe.
The last person I ever expected to see on the other side of the apothecary's door this morning was Eli.
I don't actually know what possessed me to let him in. I hadn't recognized him at first, through the door with the sign blocking part of his face, and it seemed rude to shut the door on him once I did. And then once he was inside–
My clothes feel too tight. My skin feels too hot. And I don't understand what it is about this man that makes me react in ways that I never have with anyone before.
"Well," Penelope murmurs from where she's standing, a vague amusement in her voice. "He certainly is something."
The flare of jealousy in my stomach is completely out of line. Eli is gorgeous, objectively so, and I don't have the right to be upset at anyone else noticing. Especially not someone who has been as kind and friendly with me as Penelope has.
"I met him at the bar the first night I was in town. The Howling Moon. I went in for a drink and he was working." The fight to keep the heat out of my voice is entirely out of character for me. I can feel my cheeks flushing, remembering how the rest of that night went. "I ended up leaving my card there, and had to go back the next day to pick it up. He was working then, too–so we ended up talking a little more."
"Just talking?" Penelope's voice is teasing, full of amusement.
"Of course." It comes out almost defensive. The last thing I want is for the reason I forgot my card to slip out. "He's obviously not the kind of guy who sticks around after a night. And I'm not really a one-night-stand kind of girl."
"But you asked him out for a drink?" Her tone is dubious.
"By accident." Heat creeps up my neck. "I don't know why on earth I said that."
"You obviously like him." Penelope laughs. "And I can see why. I'm surprised every woman in Bayton isn't already panting after him. He's six feet of trouble in denim and leather. Hell, he probably rides a motorcycle. I'd let him ride me. Or I would if he wasn't a shifter, anyway."
My head snaps around as I look at her, startled. Heat coils in my belly, spreading through me as I remember the night before last. The full moon, and the howls in the forest. The way lust had overridden every shred of my natural restraint, and left me naked and dripping and fucking myself with wild abandon atop my bed. "How do you know that?" My voice comes out as something very like a croak.
Penelope shrugs. "I used to be friends with Adam. The owner of the Howling Moon. I'm still friends with Marley–one of his waitresses. We grabbed lunch the other day and she couldn't stop talking about Eli, the sexy new bartender–who also happens to be a wolf shifter. I suppose that must be him."
"He told her that?" My head is spinning. A shifter. If that's true, then I should avoid him, and he should avoid me. I haven't told him that I'm a witch–and truthfully, saying it to his face would end whatever this strange connection is between us. Or, rather, it would ensure that he wouldn't flirt with me any longer. He'd ignore the chemistry we seem to have, and that would guarantee that it would die out sooner rather than later.
That's how that works, right?
"Shifters can smell other shifters. He didn't have to tell her. Especially Marley–she's a rabbit. She's prone to sniff out other predators. Keeps her safe. Or, in the case of Marley, makes her run literally into the jaws of danger." Penelope rolls her eyes.
"A wolf." I whisper it weakly, and Penelope's gaze narrows.
"You really liked him, didn't you?"
The way she says it in the past tense, like it's a given that whatever budding attraction there was between us is a lost cause, twists something in my stomach. I shouldn't feel disappointment, or regret, but I do. And I don't know how to feel about that.
"I wouldn't say I really liked him." I bite my lip, glancing at the door, but he's long gone. "I just–well, I must like him, if I accidentally asked him out for drinks."
"You could still do it." Penelope is still looking at me, as if she's trying to figure me out. "It's not unheard of."
"It's a terrible idea." I wrap my arms around myself, still looking at the door. "Shifters and witches stay away from each other. You just said it–you used to be friends with the owner of the Howling Moon. He found out you were a witch, didn't he?"
The moment I say it, I want to take it back. It's too blunt, and too familiar of a question to have asked someone I barely know, especially someone who works for me, but thankfully Penelope doesn't seem to take offense to it.
"He knew," she say quietly, and there's a small hint of hurt to her voice. "There were other reasons."
I don't pry. If she wanted to tell me, she would, and we haven't even known each other long enough to really consider one another friends. I've always had that problem–made friends too quickly, talked about my feelings too soon. It's one of the many reasons why neither friendships nor dating have ever worked out for me–not in a world where I necessarily had to hide all the most important parts of myself. But here, I don't have to do that.
Here, I could have real friends. A real relationship.
But not with a shifter.
"You could just tell him." Penelope's tone is as direct as mine was a moment ago. "If you want to be friends with him. Or if you want to go out for that drink, and see what happens. Even here in Bayton, a shifter and a witch is strange–and most shifters don't want any part of it. But maybe he wouldn't care. You could find out." She shrugs again. "The worst that can happen is he rejects you. But that's not worse than not knowing, is it?"
"I don't know." I bite my lip, trying to push Eli out of my head. To go back to my day, the way I had planned it when I woke up this morning. But it's easier said than done.
"There's only one way to find out." Penelope reaches for the shipment list that we were going over earlier, as if she's picked up on the fact that I really, really want to change the subject. "But that's entirely up to you."
—
Those last words ring in my ears later that evening, as I clean up the kitchen after dinner and look out at the velvety night. It's seven-thirty–not too late to go to the Howling Moon, and see if Eli is working. Not too late to repeat my offer of drinks to him, and tell him that I'm not looking to date right now either–but that I'm a witch, and he'd have to be okay with that.
Or I could just leave well enough alone.
A few days ago, I'd fled the bar after lunch, sure that entangling myself further with him was a terrible idea. That he's the kind of man who would never call after one night, and that I'm the kind of girl who at least wants a text the morning after. The kind of girl who, honestly, wants more than that. I don't really know what's changed, except that I can't seem to shake the way he makes me feel.
And rather than avoid him in this small town every time we cross paths, and fight off this strange desire every time as well, I can't help but wonder what would happen if we just simply gave in and let it burn itself out. For a night–or even a few–if he wanted it.
I'm starting a new life here. There's no reason why I can't do things differently here. Why I can't enjoy a brief fling with a handsome man who makes me feel things I never have before, why I can't indulge in some wild sex even if I know it's not going anywhere. And then we can move on. It should be that simple, so long as he doesn't care that I'm a witch.
Sleeping with him would be a new experience. Not because he's a shifter–I'd never objectify him over that–but because the desire I feel is more intense than anything I've ever experienced. I could, for the first time in my life, spend a night with someone who knows who I am–for the sheer pleasure of it, and nothing else.
That propels me out of the kitchen, a few of the dishes still undone, and down the hall to my bedroom.
I spent the latter part of my afternoon, after I came home from the shop, unpacking. My vision board is up on the wall, my clothes in the closet and dresser, and some of my things are scattered over the top of the dresser and nightstand. I haven't gotten a new bed or bedding yet, so it doesn't entirely feel like my room, but it's getting there. Slowly, the house is becoming my home.
I bite my lip, walking to the closet and pulling out a dark purple skirt. It's a floaty, flirty material, coming down to just above my knees. It's not quite cold enough to have to wear tights yet–not if I plan on getting an Uber instead of walking, anyway–and paired with a short-sleeved black sweater and my black velvet ankle boots, it makes for a cute outfit. I have a short black leather jacket that I can throw over it, and if I add just a thin bit of eyeliner and mascara–
Before I know it, I'm looking in the mirror, and the reflection that gazes back at me looks like a woman getting ready for a date.
Fuck. I'd planned on just throwing on ordinary clothes and going to the bar to talk to him. But like a woman possessed, I've gotten dressed up, and now–I don't know if I want to go back. I could change, but a part of me likes the idea of turning up like this. Of seeing what the look on his face is when he catches a glimpse of me unexpectedly, without knowing that I'm there to see him. The thought of making him a little jealous sends a flutter through my stomach.
I'm not the game-playing type. Not the sort of girl who likes to get a man wound up and see what he'll do when his control snaps. But the idea of Eli's control breaking makes me feel faintly weak in the knees.
The idea of him wanting me is intoxicating.
Before I can change my mind, I open the app on my phone and call an Uber. Unsurprisingly, the car that shows up at my driveway is the same silver sedan that picked me up from Mr. Screed's office, driven by the same high-school-aged boy.
I anxiously scroll through my phone as he drives me across town, trying to keep myself from questioning if this is a terrible idea–or telling the boy to turn around and take me back home. I'm trying to be adventurous, but maybe I'm just not the adventurous type.
Maybe I'm just meant to run a bookstore and get a cat, and not date at all.
The butterflies in my stomach are a storm when I get out of the car, feeling shaky and nervous. It's just a conversation, I remind myself–but I can't help thinking of how it's gone the few other times that I've told someone I was interested in that I'm a witch. Potential lover or friend, it's always gone awry. Standing on the sidewalk, I can't believe that a half-hour ago I thought it was a good idea to set myself up for that kind of rejection again.
Eli is behind the bar. I see him the moment I step inside. The bar isn't overly busy. About half the tables are filled, and there's jaunty fiddle music playing over the speakers instead of live music on the stage. There's the soft, yeasty smell of beer and the faint scent of something fried coming from the kitchen, and as I walk towards the bar I get the whiff of someone's perfume or cologne every few feet. But all of it fades into the background as I get closer to the bar.
His back is to me, and he's filling pints of beer. For a moment, all I can do is look at him–his broad shoulders in a textured dark purple long-sleeved shirt, that firm ass in his dark jeans, his long fingers wrapped around the tap as he fills another glass. A curl of heat flares to life in my belly, spreading through my blood, and I wonder if I'll ever want someone else like this. If there will be someone more right for me who makes me feel as if I'm slowly becoming molten from the inside out.
I slide onto one of the barstools, swallowing hard. He still doesn't know I'm here, and my mind races with what I'm going to say. I have one last chance to flee before he turns around–but I don't.
Eli sets down the last pint that he filled, carrying them to the window where the server whose table they belong to will come and grab them–and then turns.
There's a couple sitting at the far right end of the bar and a man sitting there alone a few seats down, but Eli's gaze goes straight to me. The instant he sees me, his grey-blue eyes meeting mine, he goes very still. There's something sharp in his gaze, like a predator sighting prey, and I feel a shiver go down my spine as I remember what I now know.
He's a shifter. What type, I have no idea. But I'm guessing he's not a rabbit like Marley.
Eli gives himself a small shake, his mouth turning up at the corners in that practiced smile, and he strides towards me. "Wasn't expectin' to see you here tonight," he says smoothly, leaning his forearms on the bar. His sleeves are rolled up, showing off the sprinkling of dark hair and the tattoos there, and the open-necked shirt shows off the tattoo climbing up his neck and the pelt of dark hair on his chest.
I can imagine touching him there. Tracing the outline of the tattoo with my tongue. Those strong hands wrapped around my–
I swallow hard, feeling the heat blaze through me. His nostrils flare, his eyes darkening, and a flush creeps up my neck. Knowing he's a shifter changes everything. He can smell me, I realize now–and I know what he's scenting in this moment. I know he can tell how turned on I am without even touching me.
"I thought I'd come and get a drink," I say thickly, the words feeling clumsy on my tongue. It feels like the world has slowed down around us, like he and I are all there is in this room. No one else seems to exist right now.
"Plenty of places to drink, even in a town this small." There's something guarded in his tone. His expression is curiously blank, though I can see that careful smile still on his lips. I'm not seeing the real Eli, I know that much. That moment today in the shop is probably the closest I've gotten to that.
"Maybe I've gotten fond of this one. I like things that are familiar." As soon as I say it, I feel sure it was the wrong thing. He's not familiar, and he's said point-blank that he's not the kind of man who becomes familiar for anyone. But his expression betrays nothing.
"What can I get you, then, Wisteria?"
The sound of my name on his lips sends another flare of heat blooming through me. I nearly whimper at the pulse of desire between my thighs, and I press my lips tightly together to keep it from slipping out.
"That drink you made me last time was good. The whiskey one."
His lips quirk upwards a little more, closer to a real smile. "A Gold Rush. I'll make you that, then."
He turns away from the bar, and I lock my fingers together in my lap, trying to stop them from trembling. I don't know what I'm doing. I feel like I can barely breathe around him, and yet I came here with the intention to ask him to go out on a–well, not a date, but out, nonetheless. For a drink, which would undoubtedly turn into something else.
"You look like you wanna ask me something." Eli says it casually when he brings my drink back, setting the tumbler down on the warm-hued wood in front of me. "Or did you really just come here tonight because the bar was familiar? You could've sat anywhere, if it was that. But here you are."
"It's where I sat before. Both times." I swallow hard. He's too perceptive. Too quick to dig in and try to make me admit why I'm here. There's nothing careful about him.
"And if the seat had been taken?" His mouth quirks up at the edge again, and I reach quickly for the drink, taking a large gulp of it. The whiskey burns the back of my throat, even softened with honey, and it takes everything in me not to cough.
"Easy there." His gaze sweeps over my face. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't tease."
"No, I–" I lick my lips, tasting whiskey and the sweetness of the honey, and I see his gaze flit to where my tongue traced over my lip. Something hungry crosses his expression, so quickly that I almost wonder if I saw it at all. "I thought I'd ask you again. About getting a drink together. I know you said you're not the dating type–but I'm not looking for anything either. I just thought–"
"A drink." He seems to roll the words over on his tongue, as if considering them. His gaze is suddenly guarded. "Just a drink?"
The unspoken question seems to be clear, at least to me. I feel my cheeks flush at the thought. "If you don't mind–"'
His gaze catches mine, keen and with a flash of that hunger again, and the words die on my tongue. If you don't mind that I'm a witch, I was going to say–but suddenly, I can't bring myself to. The way he's looking at me makes me feel like I can't breathe, like my blood is on fire, and I can't bear the thought of his rejection.
I can't bear the thought of the moment when I say it out loud, and I see that look of desire turn to disgust.
If it's only one night, then he never has to know.
"If you don't mind that I'm not looking for anything serious," I finish awkwardly. It sounds as ridiculous to me as I'm sure it does to him–he turned me down the first time for exactly that reason. But his expression doesn't change.
"I've got a better idea." His voice sounds deeper, almost a rasp in his throat, and a shiver of lust licks its way down my spine. I can imagine him sounding just like that in bed, my name hoarse on his lips as he thrusts into me.
A flood of warmth pools between my thighs, and I squirm a little on the stool, afraid of leaving a spot on my skirt.
"I'm off day after tomorrow," he continues. "Why don't we go for a hike? I like the outdoors, and we're both new here. We can explore a little. There's a lake out there that's gorgeous–we can have a drink out there by it."
A hike in the woods. Drinking outdoors by a lake. It sounds tempting and terrifying all at once–all my feminine instincts shout that I should, under no circumstances, go out into the woods with a strange man. Particularly one who is, by nature, a predator.
I feel guilty the moment the thought comes into my head. Isn't that just making assumptions about him because he's a shifter, the same way others do because you're a witch? I think of Victoria, from my support group, whose family stopped letting her visit because she'd become a were. The sense of guilt for even having the thought grows.
"That sounds very romantic for a one-off date," I say instead, taking another small sip of my drink. "Sitting out in the woods by a lake?"
Eli shrugs. "Maybe. I just think it sounds nicer than bein' cooped up inside a restaurant or a bar. I'm here five or six days out of the week–goin' to another place like this doesn't really sound like a way to spend time off to me. Although we can," he adds, as if sensing my hesitation. "If that's really what you wanna do."
I feel another jolt of guilt, and I hope he didn't pick up on the reasons for my hesitation. But then again, he has no idea that I even know. If not for Penelope, I still wouldn't know. A part of me wonders why he hasn't said–but maybe it's for the same reasons I haven't told him I'm a witch. Maybe he's had women reject him out of fear of what he is.
And, like I thought a moment ago–it's only one date. One night. Neither of us needs to go spilling our secrets, or really tell each other all that much. The mystery might be part of what makes it exciting.
"Okay." The word comes out on impulse, before I can talk myself out of it. "A hike. Day after tomorrow. Where should I meet you?"
"I'm stayin' at the lodge over by the woods." He nods vaguely in that direction, and then seems to remember that I'm new to Bayton too. "Silver Lake Lodge, if you need to look it up for directions. I'll meet you downstairs say…around noon? I tend to sleep in on my days off."
"I don't blame you." I take another sip of my drink, the whiskey burning less now. My pulse is fluttering at the thought of what might happen–although this isn't at all what I had expected. I'd expected a late night drink, maybe even at the hotel where he was staying, a drink that would inevitably turn into more. I hadn't expected us to go and do something in the daylight.
"Want another drink?" Eli nods at my now nearly-empty glass, and I shake my head.
"I have to be up at a decent time tomorrow to go and open up the shop with Penelope. There's still a lot I need to learn. So I need to be clear-headed for it. But I'll see you day after tomorrow." I manage a smile, hoping the wild beating of my heart doesn't show through. "For a hike."
Eli smiles at me, wider this time, and if I'd been standing up it would have turned my knees to water. "See you then."