One
“Pick it up!”
“You pick it up!”
“I’m not the one who dropped it.”
“I didn’t drop it. I’m … organizing.” I glanced up from the floor, my legs crossed, and fixed my cousin Thistle with an annoyed look. “We have to get some organization going in this place.”
Thistle arched a dark eyebrow, her eyes flashing as she ran a frustrated hand through her blue hair. “You’ve made a huge mess.” She gestured to the plastic bags strewn across the floor around me. “You can’t organize by making a bigger mess, Clove.”
I rolled my eyes, tucking a strand of my long, dark hair behind my ear as I regarded her. “If you want to organize, you have to start with disorganization.” I’d read that in a book somewhere, and it stuck with me. I’m big on reading.
“What book is that, How to Drive My Cousin Insane for Dummies ?”
I furrowed my brow. I was used to being talked down to. That’s what happens when you’re the meekest member of a close-knit family. Thistle always takes it to a harsh level, though. When someone is being mean to me, I like it when she swoops in and eviscerates them with her razor-sharp tongue. When her vitriol is pointed at me, I want to give her hair a good, hard yank. “No one is making you stay here,” I pointed out. “We’re slow today. You can go and do … whatever you want to do. You don’t have to watch me.”
“What are you going to do?” Thistle asked, her eyes narrowing.
“Why do you care?” I shot back. I was feeling particularly feisty today. Don’t worry, it won’t last. I get up the urge to fight and then wish I hadn’t two hours later. It’s what I do.
“Because we’re exactly one week away from the summer season starting,” Thistle said. “Once summer is officially here, then Hemlock Cove is going to be bustling with activity. We need this place put together … not filthy. This is how we make a living, or did you forget that?”
Since Thistle and I had shared ownership of our magic shop, Hypnotic, for three years now, her words chafed. “Of course I didn’t forget,” I scoffed. “Who do you think does the bulk of work around here?”
“Me!”
“You?” That was laughable. “You make candles and then pop in when you feel like it. I do all the herbs. I do all the ordering. I do all the decorating. I do all the … organizing.”
“You do all the decorating because you like it,” Thistle argued. “We live in a magically rebranded town. Anything ‘witch’ will do. You’re the one who feels the need to change the decorations every season. You just like to decorate.”
“People like it when you acknowledge the holidays,” I retorted. “Just because you’re … heartless.”
“Oh, whatever,” Thistle said, waving at me dismissively. “If you’re insistent on doing this, though, I guess I can take a trip over to Traverse City. I need to get some new wax. The stuff I bought in the fall is almost gone – and it was a little soft for my liking.”
I knew Thistle was giving me an out, but for some reason, I didn’t want to take it. “Oh, are you finally going to get moving on the spring candles?”
Thistle wrinkled her nose. “Excuse me?”
“You’ve had months to get going on the candles,” I reminded her. “You only like to work when a deadline is looming. It’s frustrating.”
“Not all of us are planners, Clove,” Thistle said. “Some of us are more creative when we have to be. I don’t like lists and … organization. I like to let my creative juices flow.”
While it was true that I had never met a list I didn’t like, there was something about Thistle’s tone that irked me. “And where would you be without my lists?”
“Standing right here.”
“Really? Because it was my lists that made sure we got the summer ordering done before the season started,” I argued.
“I was going to do it,” Thistle said. “You just didn’t give me enough time.”
The truth was, Thistle hated ordering
“Pick it up!”
“You pick it up!”
“I’m not the one who dropped it.”
“I didn’t drop it. I’m … organizing.” I glanced up from the floor, my legs crossed, and fixed my cousin Thistle with an annoyed look. “We have to get some organization going in this place.”
Thistle arched a dark eyebrow, her eyes flashing as she ran a frustrated hand through her blue hair. “You’ve made a huge mess.” She gestured to the plastic bags strewn across the floor around me. “You can’t organize by making a bigger mess, Clove.”
I rolled my eyes, tucking a strand of my long, dark hair behind my ear as I regarded her. “If you want to organize, you have to start with disorganization.” I’d read that in a book somewhere, and it stuck with me. I’m big on reading.
“What book is that, How to Drive My Cousin Insane for Dummies ?”
I furrowed my brow. I was used to being talked down to. That’s what happens when you’re the meekest member of a close-knit family. Thistle always takes it to a harsh level, though. When someone is being mean to me, I like it when she swoops in and eviscerates them with her razor-sharp tongue. When her vitriol is pointed at me, I want to give her hair a good, hard yank. “No one is making you stay here,” I pointed out. “We’re slow today. You can go and do … whatever you want to do. You don’t have to watch me.”
“What are you going to do?” Thistle asked, her eyes narrowing.
“Why do you care?” I shot back. I was feeling particularly feisty today. Don’t worry, it won’t last. I get up the urge to fight and then wish I hadn’t two hours later. It’s what I do.
“Because we’re exactly one week away from the summer season starting,” Thistle said. “Once summer is officially here, then Hemlock Cove is going to be bustling with activity. We need this place put together … not filthy. This is how we make a living, or did you forget that?”
Since Thistle and I had shared ownership of our magic shop, Hypnotic, for three years now, her words chafed. “Of course I didn’t forget,” I scoffed. “Who do you think does the bulk of work around here?”
“Me!”
“You?” That was laughable. “You make candles and then pop in when you feel like it. I do all the herbs. I do all the ordering. I do all the decorating. I do all the … organizing.”
“You do all the decorating because you like it,” Thistle argued. “We live in a magically rebranded town. Anything ‘witch’ will do. You’re the one who feels the need to change the decorations every season. You just like to decorate.”
“People like it when you acknowledge the holidays,” I retorted. “Just because you’re … heartless.”
“Oh, whatever,” Thistle said, waving at me dismissively. “If you’re insistent on doing this, though, I guess I can take a trip over to Traverse City. I need to get some new wax. The stuff I bought in the fall is almost gone – and it was a little soft for my liking.”
I knew Thistle was giving me an out, but for some reason, I didn’t want to take it. “Oh, are you finally going to get moving on the spring candles?”
Thistle wrinkled her nose. “Excuse me?”
“You’ve had months to get going on the candles,” I reminded her. “You only like to work when a deadline is looming. It’s frustrating.”
“Not all of us are planners, Clove,” Thistle said. “Some of us are more creative when we have to be. I don’t like lists and … organization. I like to let my creative juices flow.”
While it was true that I had never met a list I didn’t like, there was something about Thistle’s tone that irked me. “And where would you be without my lists?”
“Standing right here.”
“Really? Because it was my lists that made sure we got the summer ordering done before the season started,” I argued.
“I was going to do it,” Thistle said. “You just didn’t give me enough time.”
The truth was, Thistle hated ordering
Similar Books
