Page 32 of Made to Be

His laugh was warm, eyes sparkling. “You seem close.”

I nodded. “Yeah. We haven’t known each other long. Met her shortly after I moved here, but we’ve been thick as thieves ever since. Plus, she knows too many of my dirty secrets so it's too late to toss her.” I smiled fondly.

“And she told you about me?” he asked.

“For which I am indebted to her more than she ever needs to know,” I admitted. “She’d demand my soul as compensation.”

There was a stretch of silence that followed. Not awkward or heavy, just companionable. Intimate.

“I am... very grateful,” he said softly. “I would like to meet her. To thank her properly.”

I swallowed, somewhat thickly. “I want you to meet her too. And you will. But for today, ‘wanna go thrifting at a cursed antique shop?”

“Is that even a question?” he replied before finishing his breakfast with gusto. He then stood and leaned down to grab my empty plate for me and whispered directly into my ear,

“But I would still like to hear all about this supposed aphrodisiac tonic of yours.”

***

An hour later, I was parking outside of Wicked Wares, the building tucked among a long stretch of other small shops and offices on Main Street.

The shop didn’t open until ten, so Cam and I hadn’t had to rush to get ready. Today he had chosen a pair of black ripped jeans with a navy-blue flannel that truly made his eyes pop. And, of course, the Converse sneakers. I’d sewn the little Jinxs into the sides of them for him, and they didn’t look nearly as good as the ones I owned, but Cam seemed to love them all the same. Although, the black boots I’d found for him would have looked badass with the outfit too. He’d styled his hair, the long dark strands brushed to the side in a swooping wave that made his high cheekbones more prominent.

I had gone with a burnt orange turtleneck and a blue scarf that, accidentally I might add, matched Cam’s shirt. It was completely unplanned, but I’d thought it was cute. Plus, Cam’s face had lit up when he’d noticed, so I’d kept it. Dark jeans and my own Converse tied it together and damn if we didn’t looklike one of those disgustingly adorable couples that went out in coordinated couples’ outfits.

I loved it.

We got out of the car and I put some coins in the parking meter, figuring an hour was plenty of time to wander around the shop. The store itself was nestled between a psychic palm reader and a phone repair store. A few spots down on the corner was a coffee shop that I liked to frequent. I actually planned on taking Cam there on one of our dates.

I looked up and observed the crooked sign that read“Wicked Wares”and beneath it was a smaller sign:“Eclectic Antiques, Cursed Relics, and Haunted Heirlooms.”

The building, like many of the others lining Briarwood’s main streets, was two stories of old, worn bricks and aged windows. The town was technically considered historic, built somewhere around the late seventeen-hundreds. Large display windows sat on either side of a recessed wooden door with chipped red paint. Decorating the displays was a variety of objects and antiques; they were even themed for Halloween. Although, this shop was thematically spooky all year round so... I guessed it was just extra spooky?

The lock on my car chirped and Cam followed me up the short stairs. As he pulled open the door for me to enter, the bell above chimed welcomingly.

The shop itself was more deep than it was wide, the front an open floor with tables and a shelvesdisplaying everything from stuffed animals and toys to kitchenware, picture frames, knickknacks, clothes, furniture, books, and everything in between. The back comprised of several rows of shelves pressed tightly together and crammed with all manner of things. A metal staircase rose up in the dead center in a spiral directly to the second floor. Off to the right sat an old-fashioned wooden counter and yet another sign that I read aloud.

“Most cursed and haunted items are labeled. Touch at your discretion. Wicked Wares is not responsible for any accidental hexes, latchkey ghosts, or loss of fingers or limbs.”

“Mostitems?” Cam asked, sounding rather dubious.

“Latchkey ghosts? Seems like they should make you sign a waiver or something,” I deadpanned.

“We used to,” said a bored, flat voice.

I turned and saw an older gentleman striding from between the shelves. He walked with his hands tucked behind his back, shoulders slightly hunched with age. He wore an old-fashioned fedora over short gray hair and suspenders over a simple dark green button-up, its sleeves rolled to his elbows.

“Led to too many lawsuits, believe it or not. Now we just put up the sign.”

“Isn’t that backwards?” I asked.

The man just shrugged, “I’m no lawyer. So, how can I help you? Looking for anything specific or justbrowsing? If you’re looking for items with certain curses, we have the known ones alphabetized.”

“Why would we want something with a specific curse?” Cam asked with that curious, adorable-as-fuck head tilt.

He gave a careless wave. “Jackass boss, a family member that pissed you off one too many times, annoying neighbor, cheating boyfriend named Tim... Take your pick.”

Cam and I shared a look before I shook my head. “Um, no. Thank you. We’re actually here for the cock harucha plates.”