It had been an incredibly long day, starting with my confrontation with Ethan, and it hadn’t gotten much better from there. The news that I’d been dragged to the police station had spread like wildfire- and every new mouth made the story worse. The wild tale kept changing, and if I had to hear another whisper about how I was hexing police officers I might start to consider living up to their idea of me.

Taking my bicycle home, running away from the pressure that had been crushing me all day, all I wanted was a peaceful few hours working with my mother. I paused in locking my bike up outside the shop; a sleek black motorcycle was parked by the curb, flashy and loud for a town where one could walk anywhere they needed to go. I shook off thoughts of whose mid-life crisis brought it to our streets, rekindling my excitement to see my mother. A home cooked meal she had promised me and a hand brewed cup of tea were my planned salvation.

It was a dream which was smashed when I opened the red door to my mother's shop. After the police had intruded on my only safe space, the annoyingly familiar sight of Ethan’s blond-streaked hair sparked immediate, almost illogical anger. 

My mother’s sweet smile behind him as he said he’d been waiting for me made me bristle; if my mother knew what he’d said, she wouldn’t be smiling like that. He seemed even more exotic in the warm, dim lighting of the shop, his presence like an attack on what little patience I still held.

I struggled with words for a moment heavy with tension, hands balled at my side. “You should leave,” I finally ground out. 

            Ethan dropped his gaze, his shoulders slumping. "I just came to apologize for this morning. I was wrong, and I'm sorry. I'll uh…" he brushed a hand through his windswept hair, "I'll get going." 

His easy acceptance had my anger faltering for a moment; the last thing I had expected was an apology. But I didn’t want to hear it. Shaking my head, I brushed past him, hurrying to get behind the counter and to a part of the store where he couldn’t follow me again.

A hand caught my wrist as I tried to escape. “Lyndon Weir,” my mother said my name, and I struggled not to flinch away from the low tones that meant I was in trouble. “This is not how we treat a guest.”

“He’s not a guest, he’s-”

She cleared her throat loudly, her grip tightening. Dragging me behind the counter with her, she took a moment to smile at Ethan like she wasn’t furious with me. “Excuse us for a moment, dear. I promised tea, and I’d hate for you to miss it.” 

            Ethan looked at me, his brow furrowed as he cleared his throat, saying awkwardly, "I really don't want to impose on...either of you." 

            I noted how he held his hand up as if in surrender, the other firmly holding a motorcycle helmet. It figured that the metal beast belonged to him- it fit him, in ways that weren’t entirely negative.

“Please, don’t worry about Lyn’s little… outburst,” she cut me a chilling glare. “It seems there’s more than one apology to be heard today- and it can be done over tea. Come with me to the kitchen, Lyn.”

There was no arguing with my mother when she was in that sort of mood; she pulled me toward the back of the shop, until I couldn’t see the confliction on Ethan’s face. My mother let go of me once we were out of sight, turning on me with a frown. “What was that?”

I sighed, and nudged her out of my way so I could put water in the kettle. “Nothing, mom. I hardly know him, and I’m tired.”

The slam of one of the metal tins we kept the tea leaves in made me jump a little, water sloshing onto the stove. “You know I don’t like it when you lie to me.”

“Mom…” I put my hands against the counter, bowing my head. “He’s a stalker. He followed me into the woods and thought I was a monster because I was doing a finding ritual, and now he’s come here. My life is falling apart enough as it is without some guy who doesn't know me or this town showing up to point fingers every time I turn my head!”

Silence was broken only by the soft crackle of the stove’s flame, and the soft clinks of the tea spoon as my mother measured out leaves. “I don’t think he’s here to accuse you of anything, Lyn. We had a chat before you came in, and he seems genuinely apologetic for… whatever he said to you.” She put the spoon down and came to stand beside me, watching the stove with me, bumping up against my side. “It wouldn’t hurt to listen, Lyn.”

“It might,” I muttered, wincing when she whacked me for it. “He was acting like I did this, mom, like everybody else. I’m tired of defending myself for something you know I wouldn’t do.”

Her hard gaze softened, and she leaned her weight against me. “I know, but he said he wants to be different- and I believe him. It would be good to have somebody on your side for once, Lyn. It hurts me to see you so… alone.”

My breath caught in my throat, and I swallowed thickly so I could speak. “Fine, I’ll listen.”

“And?”

“And I’ll apologize for being rude,” I huffed, rolling my eyes, and laughed when it had her smacking my arm again. The screeching whistle of the kettle distracted us both, and we bustled to prepare a tea tray to bring out with us. My eyebrows raised for a moment when I realized there were only two cups, signaling she was sending me off to fare on my own with Ethan; my mother’s frown would allow no arguments. 

I half expected Ethan to be gone when we came out into the front of the store, the tray rattling as I put it on the front counter, trying to look as close to pleasant as my exhaustion would allow me.

            His helmet had been set on the counter, a hand in his pocket as he bent to peruse different coloured candles we had displayed for sale on a shelf. He jumped a little, straightening as he saw me enter the room. "Oh here," he said, reaching for the tray, "let me help."   

I bit my lip against a smart response. “Thanks.” I did my best to smile at him. “It’s a little heavy because we weren’t sure how you take your tea.”

           Ethan took the tray, giving me a small smile. "Well if I answered honestly, I'm afraid you wouldn't find me very macho." He hesitated, clearly wondering if the joke had gone amiss. "So, uh, can we sit somewhere?" 

“Ah, of course,” I gestured toward the other side of the store, where a small table was tucked in the coziest corner of the shop, its black tablecloth a little dusty from disuse. Collecting the unlit candle and an empty vase, I brushed off a few scattered leaves to clear the table. “We haven’t done consults for a while, we don’t get many new customers, but we kept this just in case.” 

           Ethan placed the tray on the table, sitting down. He took a cup of tea, pouring in milk and an obscene amount of sugar as he said, rather nervously, "Thank you for agreeing to talk to me. I know it wasn't exactly something you wanted to do. I'm sorry for barging in on you." 

I stared at his cup for long enough that it had to be awkward, before shaking my head. “Thank you for being considerate, but I… shouldn’t have been rude and tried to throw you out. You came to talk, I can listen.” Unsure of what to say to relieve the awkward air, I focused on the honey pot, adding a tiny dollop to my tea and stirring it with fierce concentration. The handmade blend of tea was a warm comfort, helping to ease the tension in my shoulders. “It must be pretty important, if you came all the way here,” I added, glancing at him. 

             His face was pensive as he said, "I'm of the custom to apologize when I'm in the wrong and this morning…" he sighed over his cup before leaning his forehead into the palm of his hand. "I don't know what I was thinking. I jumped to conclusions. What people were saying got to me and I just wanted to figure out the truth for myself. I was a jerk and out of line. I know we don't know each other and you're basically my teacher." He closed his eyes, groaning. "Honestly I didn't even think about my grades. Guess that's fucked."

I hid the twitch of my lips with my cup, looking down so it wouldn’t show in my eyes. It hadn’t crossed my mind to fudge his grades for revenge, and could only imagine what the professor would say if he found out. Ethan’s frustration wasn’t worth the risk- especially since my mother was right, and he seemed earnest. 

He sipped his tea, sitting back as he looked at me. "I don't believe you're to blame for any of it. And whether or not my opinion means anything to you, I am sorry. I won't be causing you anymore trouble." 

“You’ve told me that before,” I reminded him, recalling our first conversation in the professor’s office. “I hope you’re better with deadlines than you are with keeping promises, or your grades will suffer without any meddling from me.” My light tone was the only thing saving that from sounding like an insult.

I could almost see the moment his heart sank, his light eyes staring into the tea before him. "You're right," he whispered, his brows tight and his eyes pained, "I'm not good at keeping promises." He pushed the cup away from him, standing abruptly without looking at me again. "I'll stay out of your way. I am sorry. Truly." 

Any remaining anger drained out of me as I watched him, confused by his sudden mood change. “I…” My voice failed me, and I gripped my cup tightly. All I’d wanted the last several days was for him to leave me alone- and yet that look in his eyes made it hard to think of him as just another annoyance. Grimacing, I put my cup down and tried not to sound worried for this person I hardly knew. “I appreciate it. You seem like a good person- misunderstandings aside- so it’s probably in your best interest to stay out of all this.”

"Yeah, you're probably right." He forced a smile, abandoning his tea and returning to the front of the shop. Picking up his helmet, he nodded at me. "Thanks for the tea. And, please thank your mother for me, too. She seems like a lovely woman." 

“She is. And if you ever need anything… she likes to help, and she’ll always be here.” It was the best I could do to smother the nagging feeling of guilt that crept up on the back of my mind. My mother had wanted me to make a friend, and all I’d managed was to step on some kind of emotional mine and tell him to get out of my life- again. 

"Thanks, Lyn." He had kind and sorrowful eyes as he stepped out of the shop and onto the sidewalk. 

I let him leave, watching him put his helmet on and kick his motorcycle to a roaring start. And despite my relief, there was a part of me that wondered if I had done the right thing.