Work Text:
The doorbell chimes ten minutes before Jess has to close.
“Hello?” Jess calls, warily, from the back room. It might have just been the wind. Jess rarely gets any customers now, which is how she likes it. Most sales are online, an inevitability she’d lamented, but it’s easier. She’d had a work shadow kid who set up the website and automated as much as possible. The rest is methodical and repetitive, boring in a way that’s a little calming. Esti has gone back to college now, but still calls Jess every week to check that it’s all working. And maybe to check on her, too, because it’s not subtle, and Jess kinda likes it. Being cared about.
Jess gets up to look. It might be one of the aunts, and she wouldn’t mind that. They’re really the only remaining customers in town. They’re not even her aunts, just two kind older ladies who know what it’s like, how hard it is, being an outsider. They’ve comforted her about it, especially when Jess was younger. Being normal is not necessarily a virtue, Jess reminds herself of their words often. It rather denotes a lack of courage.
The aunts lean even harder into the witch aesthetic than Jess does. Not that Jess does. It’s just how her family has been seen, for generations now. Everyone’s a little different, a little weird, too knowledgeable about the wrong things, and it draws suspicion even though they’re just a bunch of forest loners who keep to themselves. At least the earlier generations were respected as the apothecary or the herbalist or the healer, the farmers and the carpenters and the blacksmith, and they were needed even if they weren’t wanted, even if nobody made eye contact. But Jess is the first one who’s truly been alone, since her grandparents died, since all her brothers moved to the big city as though they’d become different people when they got there.
But Jess can’t become a city person, so she weathers the scrutiny and the whispers, puts on a brave face as the customers dwindle and the revulsion deepens. She has a knack for finding animals that have been left for dead, and she has a flatbed truck to carry them home. It’s not even hard to rehabilitate them, usually – it just takes time and space and a little nurturing, three things Jess has in spades, and then she releases them back to the wild, if they’re up for it, or lets them stay safe and cozy on the farm, if they’re not. But apparently it’s “suspicious” that the bodies disappear, that Jess knows too much about herbs and tinctures and has close ties to the local covens, that the fragile flicker of life survives under her hand, or that it doesn’t.
So the store is quiet, mostly just judgmental glances through the windows Jess has stopped cleaning the smudges from, because there’s no point putting up a good front, and it takes time away from more important things. Last year, a walking tour pressed up against the windows like they were looking for ghosts. Well, let ‘em.
It’s lucky that online sales have really taken off, to the point that she’s out of stock frequently. There are a few regular orders, and those are her favorites. It feels good to be part of someone’s routine. It feels like trust, and it’s a warmth in Jess’s chest to know her work is meaningful to somebody, even if it’s people she’s never met and never will. Esti posts some kind of webpages about upcoming variations, and there are comments where customers started out talking to Jess, and ended up talking to each other. It’s a network, a community, huddling around each other, even just in spirit. People write in expressing appreciation for Jess’s concoctions, how nice they smell, how soothing they feel, how sustainable they are. Sometimes she gets the empty jars back, and occasionally they’re full of tea or buttons or recipes or a tiny crocheted mushroom.
Jess keeps these things, to look at when it all feels too hard.
Like now, when the bell chimed but the front room is empty. Just ghosts. Jess is tired of the stares and rumors and prank calls she stopped answering. One day she might close up shop completely.
Jess glances around, trying to tell if anything is missing – she doesn’t keep much stock out, since she mails most of it immediately these days. There’s not much to steal, but there’s still the risk of vandalism. There’s a faint scent in the air that she can’t place, like some of her products have been spilled, but she can’t see anything. It feels like a practical joke, which has happened a couple times. It’s hard to trust, now, when someone seems to like her, seems to be interested in her work. Jess has been burned too many times to keep trying. It’s always the same, even when it seems to be different.
And then the door is swinging open again, knocked open by someone’s hip as they maneuver a box through the doorway. Jess catches that same scent on the breeze coming through the open door, the visitor’s curls tumbling in the wind.
She stops dead when she sees Jess, and they stare at each other.
“What do you want,” Jess asks, which is somewhere between how can I help you and what are you doing here, and it comes out abrupt. She clears her throat and tries again, remembering the last time a stranger wandered in. “Are you writing an article?” Jess asks suspiciously.
The woman looks confused by this, her eyes settling on Jess for a long moment. “It’s amazing in here,” she says, looking around the room, and then back to Jess.
Jess bristles. “What have you heard?” she demands, starting to list off the most common accusations. “It’s not haunted, there’s no blood – ”
It’s not Jess’s fault that the deer was too close to death, that all Jess could do was ease her suffering, help her slip away without pain. And she certainly wasn’t going to leave the unborn fawn to die along with her, even if it meant cutting her free on the side of the road, where anyone could see. Where everyone did see.
Letting the deer die had been one thing, but – ironically – the day Jess saved the sheep had been the final straw, tipping her from disgust into distrust, as if nobody’s heard of medicine. Suddenly, the stories say, Jess is killing and reanimating animals in the back of her shop, as though the deaths are her doing, as though she doesn’t know how it feels to survive when everyone has turned their backs. As though Jess is the monstrous one.
But the woman is just looking around in awe, like she means it. Jess feels a little itchy as she watches this inspection of her sparse storefront, the simple shelves, the quiet black cat in the corner, this tiny place that is so Jess, and rarely seen by anyone else. Then the woman’s eyes dart back to Jess, and her expression drops, probably because Jess is frowning, but she can’t work out how to stop.
“I was just going to leave these.” The visitor holds up the box. Jess can see jars inside. “Normally I’d mail them,” the woman says. “Uh, I’m Lupe?”
Lupe.
Jess feels a little dizzy.
The name is familiar, but Jess has never heard it aloud. Never said it. The cat isn’t talkative, and Jess respects his solitude. His paw has healed, enough that he wanders in and out as he pleases. Sometimes they go fishing together, but they don’t talk.
And there’s nothing to say, either. Jess has read Lupe’s name on a dozen orders, quarterly for the last few years. And the jars she sends back, often with something tucked inside – dried herbs and flowers, some hard candies. It’s been awhile since Lupe’s last order, which Jess packed automatically before realizing, and stowed under her workbench.
So if she’s thought about Lupe, it’s only for accounting purposes.
Jess’s heartbeat speeds up, trying to process what’s in front of her. Lupe, from the note stuck on Jess’s wall, and the jars of kindness.
“I’m on a trip, so I thought I might… drop in,” Lupe says, hesitant now that she’s noticed how extremely weird Jess is being.
Jess tries not to stare at her, tries to nod a normal amount of times.
“Save the shipping?” Lupe ventures, indicating the jars again.
Lupe pauses, as if she’s waiting for Jess to say something, but Jess is still trying to compute. “I’m also hoping to get some moisturizer,” Lupe says. “With the cold, my hands are a little…”
She trails off, but she’s finally left a thread long enough for Jess to catch.
“Well, we – I.” Jess clears her throat. “I have some hand balm, it’s great to repair –” Jess rummages fruitlessly. She’s packaged up the last one, but she could delay shipping that order.
“Uh, it’s very gentle, very effective,” Jess says, holding out her own hands as proof, and then faltering as Lupe reaches for her hand. “I can – grab – ” but her voice fades as Lupe cups Jess’s hand in her own, strokes her fingers over Jess’s skin. It’s been a long time since Jess has been touched, and she shivers.
“Very soft,” Lupe says, and there’s something in her tone that Jess isn’t sure of. It might be suspicion, like everyone else. The precursor to the distrust, the rumors, the vitriol.
“The sheep wasn’t even badly injured!” Jess bursts out, and Lupe looks up at her, her brow furrowed, and Jess takes a breath, because that’s a very odd thing to have said on the off chance that Lupe hasn’t heard the rumors already. Fuck.
“Bette made a full recovery,” Jess finishes hoarsely, finding it hard to concentrate with the little circles Lupe is tracing on her skin, not with the sparks fritzing through Jess’s brain and the shivers down her spine.
“Guess she was in good hands,” Lupe murmurs, and she looks up at Jess in a way that suggests a joke is happening, except Jess isn’t sure what it is.
“I’m all out of balm,” Jess says, just to say anything at all. “But I have some moisturizer bars. They’re new.”
“I saw the website!” Lupe answers. She sounds eager, and she’s nodding, and she’s still holding Jess’s hand. Jess doesn’t know how to bring that to her attention. “I wasn’t sure, I thought the bar might drag?”
Jess is shaking her head as she reaches for a bar. “They warm up,” Jess says, putting it into Lupe’s palm, and then holding Lupe’s hands between her own for a moment, like a sandwich. “You just need to hold it gently, and it melts.”
Lupe nods seriously. Jess sets the bar down and starts rubbing the soft oils into Lupe’s skin gently, first her palms and then the backs of her hands. When Jess glances up, Lupe is gazing at her, and biting her lip, and her cheeks are pink.
Fuck, Jess is being weird again. She’s so out of practice at talking to people, knowing what to say and who to be. It’s so strange, having someone here who’s looking at her with that little smile around her mouth. Jess wants, more than anything, for this tranquil moment to continue, soft and easy, wants to make a good impression, and yet she keeps fucking up.
“Sorry,” Jess mutters, dropping Lupe’s fingers as if they’re burning as hot as Jess’s face feels, but Lupe is smiling and looking down at her hands, and then she flicks up to look at Jess. She’s still smiling, and her expression is gentle and weighty and curious, layered with all kinds of things Jess hasn’t seen for a long time, and barely recognizes. Wants to recognize, except for how she’s been burned so many times.
And then the clock chimes.
“I have to go,” Jess blurts, and now Lupe’s face falls.
“What?”
“It’s noon,” Jess says, “I need to go feed the babies.”
“You have kids?” Lupe asks.
“Just one,” Jess answers, “Bette’s raising her with the lamb. Had to introduce them by scent first, so they’d recognize each other, but they seem happy now.”
Lupe blinks, like Jess has somehow surprised her, even though it was the answer to Lupe’s question. It makes Jess feel antsy, and she pours some more words into the ensuing silence. “It’s just feeding and meds and I have to check everyone. The fawn is still bottle-fed, and so are the kittens, and I gotta give the cat his diabetes medicine and redo Steve’s bandages – ” Jess stops abruptly. Too much talking.
“You have - ?” Lupe asks again, brow furrowed.
Jess wishes that Lupe would finish any of these questions, so Jess can know what the answers are. Eventually, Lupe seems to realize no answer is forthcoming until she specifies.
“A Steve?” Lupe finishes finally.
This is something of a sore spot with Jess, and she wishes Lupe hadn’t picked up on it. “I know I shouldn’t have,” Jess says, guiltily, and then she adds, “I haven’t named the kittens,” as though that’s any justification.
Lupe just seems to be getting more confused.
“It felt weird to not call him something,” Jess explains, a touch desperately. “But I don’t know what raccoons call each other. When Bette talks, it sounds like she says Bette, but Steve doesn’t say anything. I put out twenty-six pieces of corn and just wrote down what he ate. It’s S-T-E-A-V, technically.”
Jess hopes this rationale makes sense to Lupe, even while she’s simultaneously wondering why she’s trying to justify herself to a stranger, something she’s long tried to give up doing.
But the truth is, Jess knows why. It’s the warmth of a very specific hope, one that she tries to pretend isn’t happening, because she knows better.
“I know it’s not really my business,” Jess adds hastily.
Jess tries to squash any traces of optimism, because Lupe is staring at her a lot, which probably means Lupe thinks she’s weird. And Lupe is asking her all these questions, as if to confirm Jess is weird, and Jess has told her so incredibly much unnecessary information, which will definitely confirm how weird Jess really is.
“It takes about an hour,” Jess concludes, scratching at her jaw. “Sometimes two.”
Jess kind of expects Lupe will look irritated, like the last time she had to get customers to hurry up and they never came back. But Lupe doesn’t look irritated - Lupe is smiling, her eyes warm and brown and crinkling at the edges slightly, and she’s biting down on her lip even as she’s smiling, and altogether it looks like everything Jess knows is supposed to read happy.
Jess leans hard against the counter, trying to steady herself.
Surely nothing good can come from this little momentary distraction, or from thinking about the warmth of Lupe’s smile and the way she’s standing so close to Jess.
Surely. Nothing good ever has.
But then Lupe leans against the counter, next to Jess. Like she belongs there, next to Jess.
Jess catches the scent of her hair again, and there’s a soft feeling like tenderness in her chest, Lupe’s scent as familiar as her own. Because it is her own, all those orders she’s packed over the months.
Lupe always gets a shampoo bar and two jars of conditioners, and she’d written that first note about it - how the cedar and smoke scent, and the nourishing moss, make her feel like part of nature. Like she might like camping, even though she doesn’t.
“Did you ever go camping?” Jess asks, and Lupe shifts back to a comfortable distance. Jess regrets asking, the way Lupe’s brow furrows, like she doesn’t know what Jess means.
Jess really tries not to remember random facts from strangers, especially ones that happened so long ago. Jess feels her cheeks turning hot again.
“You… wrote a note…” Jess mumbles.
“I know,” Lupe says, and she’s looking at Jess intently, the warmth of her just close enough for Jess to feel, even though she’s standing a little too far away. “I remember.”
Jess just bites her lip, not knowing what else to say. Clearly Jess remembers too, and there’s no explanation, no excuse she can offer. But for the first time, she’s not sure she needs one. Not with the way Lupe is blushing a soft pink, and Jess can’t help but look at her collarbones, the open buttons of her shirt.
Lupe shakes her head quickly, dark hair threaded with grays that catch the light, curls brushing softly against her neck. Jess would like to thread her fingers through Lupe’s hair. For professional reasons. Quality assurance.
“Haven’t been camping.” Lupe leans back with her elbows against the counter, eyeing Jess a little challengingly. “You know a place?”
Jess’s breath catches. “Know a couple,” she answers, her voice hoarse and cautious.
Lupe smiles. “Maybe you can give me some tips.”
Jess frowns, saying, “I don’t get out much,” and then, “but I need to leave now,” and at that, Lupe hops away from the counter. Jess doesn’t know how to take the words back, to undo the leaving.
But Lupe isn’t leaving. Instead, she asks, “Do you want some help?”
Jess blinks at Lupe for entirely too long. Lupe shrugs. “Sounds like a big job.”
The words reverberate through the still air of the front room, drawing heat to Jess’s cheeks, as if her blood wants to be as close to Lupe as possible. Then Lupe shifts a little closer, a half-step, like she’ll follow Jess out the back, if Jess lets her.
Jess’s breath catches again, because Lupe’s warmth is still close enough to breathe, rich with the scent of the woods Jess knows by heart. It feels like recognition spilling through her, even as she can inhale the notes of Lupe underneath, a spicy mint that makes Jess shiver. Jess wonders if this is something like how Bette had felt, nuzzling into the baby goat, even though they were strangers, because she’d found something familiar in something foreign.
“You want to help?” Jess rasps, and Lupe nods. “Might get your hands dirty,” Jess warns her, and Lupe smiles and starts rolling up her sleeves. Jess turns the sign on the door to say Closed, lingering so that she isn’t distracted by the lean muscles of Lupe’s forearms.
Jess takes a steadying breath.
It’s still going to be a long day, but maybe it might also be a good one.