tutted. ‘Good morning, dear,’ she said to Michael. ‘Welcome to Crystal Gaze. How can we help you? A book? Some incense? A dreamcatcher, perhaps?’ She got off her stool to sidle up to him, giving away that she knew perfectly well who he was. ‘Though if you ask me, the dreamcatchers have already done their work. You’re even dreamier than I imagined!’
As if the whole thing wasn’t mortifying enough, Aunt Gertrude pinched Michael’s bum.
Michael jumped about three feet into the air and his eyes opened wide. ‘Oh! Uh . . .’
‘Aunt Gertrude, you didn’t!’
‘I, uh, actually was hoping to talk to Mel,’ Michael said, looking bewildered and embarrassed in equal measure.
‘Mel’s my god-daughter,’ Aunt Gertrude said, leaning in close. She sniffed Michael, just as she’d sniffed Mel earlier, and she shot Mel an unsubtle wink. ‘We’re very close,’ she said, looking up at Michael as she took a step closer to him, her chiffon hem brushing his shoes. ‘Anything you have to say to her you can say to me, too.’
The difference in their height was almost comical. Aunt Gertrude barely made it to Michael’s chest – she looked like a rotund pixie, or Michael looked like a giant, Mel wasn’t sure which. When Michael had been in the shop the first time, Mel had noted his bulk and his grace. While the bulk of him was still very much evident, the grace had vanished, along with Aunt Gertrude’s manners.
Michael looked between Mel and her godmother, a faintly panicked look in his eyes. ‘Well, I was . . . kinda . . . hoping we could talk in private.’
He took a step back from Aunt Gertrude, colliding with a display of ceramic angels – appropriately enough. One of them toppled but with lightning-fast reflexes, Michael grabbed it before it hit the floor.
‘Phew,’ he said. He settled the figurine back on the shelf. ‘Whoops. I’m glad I didn’t hurt this little guy.’
‘Oh, you’re fine.’ Aunt Gertrude patted him on the chest. ‘And
firm
.’ She kept patting him. ‘Ooh.’
‘Aunt Gertrude! Leave him alone.’ Mel didn’t want to talk with Michael. There was nothing more she could say, but her godmother’s behaviour left her with little choice. She had to get Michael out of here before Aunt Gertrude mauled him.
Mel grabbed her handbag from under the counter and rushed out to physically force herself between Michael and his attacker. ‘We’re going for coffee. Can you mind your own shop for a few minutes?’ She glared at the older woman.
Aunt Gertrude gave them both a butter-wouldn’t-melt smile. ‘Of course. You two have fun. Take all the time you need.’ She opened the door and waved them out. ‘Feel free not to come back!’
Once they were out on the cold, windy street, Mel’s insides froze up along with her fingertips.
‘I-I apologise about all that,’ she stammered.
Michael laughed, the sound more than a little uncomfortable. ‘It’s fine. She’s a . . . feisty lady.’
‘Yeah, that’s one word for her.’
Mel hadn’t grabbed her coat and neither of them had an umbrella, so they dodged from shop canopy to shop canopy to try to avoid the rain, finally making it to the cafe where they’d had breakfast the day before.
The day before!
Was that all it had been, a day?
By the time they entered the cafe Mel was wet and freezing and she hated to think what her hair looked like. In a gesture that had already become familiar to her, Michael ran his fingers through his hair so it sat back from his face – instantly looking like he’d had a team of invisible stylists swoop in and fix him up.
As they took a seat, Mel hoped the latte she’d ordered as they walked in turned up fast, if only to warm her up – and give her something to do except look at Michael and panic about what on earth to say to him.
‘Are you cold?’ Michael asked.
‘I’m fine,’ Mel said, but her chattering teeth no doubt gave her away. Her silky long-sleeved
As if the whole thing wasn’t mortifying enough, Aunt Gertrude pinched Michael’s bum.
Michael jumped about three feet into the air and his eyes opened wide. ‘Oh! Uh . . .’
‘Aunt Gertrude, you didn’t!’
‘I, uh, actually was hoping to talk to Mel,’ Michael said, looking bewildered and embarrassed in equal measure.
‘Mel’s my god-daughter,’ Aunt Gertrude said, leaning in close. She sniffed Michael, just as she’d sniffed Mel earlier, and she shot Mel an unsubtle wink. ‘We’re very close,’ she said, looking up at Michael as she took a step closer to him, her chiffon hem brushing his shoes. ‘Anything you have to say to her you can say to me, too.’
The difference in their height was almost comical. Aunt Gertrude barely made it to Michael’s chest – she looked like a rotund pixie, or Michael looked like a giant, Mel wasn’t sure which. When Michael had been in the shop the first time, Mel had noted his bulk and his grace. While the bulk of him was still very much evident, the grace had vanished, along with Aunt Gertrude’s manners.
Michael looked between Mel and her godmother, a faintly panicked look in his eyes. ‘Well, I was . . . kinda . . . hoping we could talk in private.’
He took a step back from Aunt Gertrude, colliding with a display of ceramic angels – appropriately enough. One of them toppled but with lightning-fast reflexes, Michael grabbed it before it hit the floor.
‘Phew,’ he said. He settled the figurine back on the shelf. ‘Whoops. I’m glad I didn’t hurt this little guy.’
‘Oh, you’re fine.’ Aunt Gertrude patted him on the chest. ‘And
firm
.’ She kept patting him. ‘Ooh.’
‘Aunt Gertrude! Leave him alone.’ Mel didn’t want to talk with Michael. There was nothing more she could say, but her godmother’s behaviour left her with little choice. She had to get Michael out of here before Aunt Gertrude mauled him.
Mel grabbed her handbag from under the counter and rushed out to physically force herself between Michael and his attacker. ‘We’re going for coffee. Can you mind your own shop for a few minutes?’ She glared at the older woman.
Aunt Gertrude gave them both a butter-wouldn’t-melt smile. ‘Of course. You two have fun. Take all the time you need.’ She opened the door and waved them out. ‘Feel free not to come back!’
Once they were out on the cold, windy street, Mel’s insides froze up along with her fingertips.
‘I-I apologise about all that,’ she stammered.
Michael laughed, the sound more than a little uncomfortable. ‘It’s fine. She’s a . . . feisty lady.’
‘Yeah, that’s one word for her.’
Mel hadn’t grabbed her coat and neither of them had an umbrella, so they dodged from shop canopy to shop canopy to try to avoid the rain, finally making it to the cafe where they’d had breakfast the day before.
The day before!
Was that all it had been, a day?
By the time they entered the cafe Mel was wet and freezing and she hated to think what her hair looked like. In a gesture that had already become familiar to her, Michael ran his fingers through his hair so it sat back from his face – instantly looking like he’d had a team of invisible stylists swoop in and fix him up.
As they took a seat, Mel hoped the latte she’d ordered as they walked in turned up fast, if only to warm her up – and give her something to do except look at Michael and panic about what on earth to say to him.
‘Are you cold?’ Michael asked.
‘I’m fine,’ Mel said, but her chattering teeth no doubt gave her away. Her silky long-sleeved
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