Bad Chemistry

Ps. Rule number one of working at Curios & Curses: if an object looks harmless, it’s 100% cursed—or at least that's what Roxy tells me—and if it smells like old dust, it's about to trigger a crazy sneeze attack at the absolute worst moment. The shop wasn't even on Google Maps. Half the city thought it was just some fake urban legend, and the other half figured it was a money-laundering front. Local group chats had endless rumors about the place—like how the owner could hex your ex, or how the weird trinkets moved when you weren't looking. In reality, it was just a chaotic, dimly lit mess that smelled like lavender, old paper, and whatever boba flavor Roxy was currently sipping. Roxy insisted she was a high-level witch. I usually just nodded along. Sure, Roxy. You're a witch, I'm a billionaire, and this rusty pot is a relic. I loved her, but she was definitely a little unhinged. Right now, I was balancing on the third step of a super shaky wooden ladder, twisting my body at a weird angle to shove a rusty brass cauldron onto the top shelf. "If this thing falls and crushes my foot, I'm LITERALLY quitting," I yelled down. Behind the counter, Roxy didn't even look up from her phone. She adjusted her oversized leather jacket, her heavy rings clicking against the counter. "If you break it, it comes out of your pay. It’s an authentic 1890s cauldron. Very rare." "It’s literally covered in rust." "It’s PATINA," she corrected, taking a slow sip from her straw. "Learn the difference." I rolled my eyes, using my elbow to shove the heavy piece of metal two inches to the left. That’s when the little chime above the front door went off. Instantly, the whole vibe in the room changed. It was just this sudden, heavy shift in the air, thick with the smell of fresh rain, wood, and pure heat. My heart did a massive jump against my ribs. A whole wave of heat rushed down my spine, making my skin flush so fast I couldn't even catch my breath. My body reacted way before my brain even registered who had walked in. I turned my head too fast. Standing in the doorway was a guy who took up way too much space. He was massive—broad shoulders, super tall, wearing a dark jacket that looked way too expensive for a trashy oddities shop. He had a ridiculously sharp jawline, messy dark hair from the rain outside, and eyes that locked straight onto mine the second he stepped inside. My body instantly gave me this crazy, overwhelming urge to step closer to him—an impulse so loud and weird that it completely short-circuited my brain. Oh, for the love of Gawd, I thought, my annoyance instantly spiking. This guy again. He’d been haunting the shop for the past two weeks. He’d drop in under the worst excuses, stand around looking broody and dramatic like he owned the place, and stare at me like I owed him money. To everyone else, he was probably just some crazy rich, scary CEO who hated people. To me, he was just a huge pest. "Can I help you?" I snapped, my foot slipping an inch on the wooden rung. "Or are you just here to waste my oxygen?" His jaw clenched, a tiny muscle ticking near his ear. He didn't say a word. He just took two slow steps into the aisle, his dark eyes tracking how awkwardly I was balancing on the ladder. That was my mistake. I got so distracted by how much he was glaring at me—and how fast my own heart was suddenly pounding—that I tried to fix my grip on the cauldron. My left shoe slipped. Time didn't slow down. There was no cute, romantic movie-catch. There was just gravity and absolute disaster. My arms flailed in thin air. The cauldron slipped out of my hands, clipping the shelf on the way down. A velvet tray with forty antique rings flipped upside down, sending metal raining across the floor like marbles. I let out a very cat-like shriek as my feet totally gave out. The tall guy lunged forward to catch me, but his timing was completely off. I didn't land nicely in his arms. I hit him like a sack of bricks. We crashed onto the floorboards in a chaotic, messy heap. My knee slammed dead-center into his stomach with a loud "OOF," knocking every last bit of air right out of him. My shoulder slammed into his chest, and my face buried itself straight into his neck. "Are you f*****g serious right now?" I choked out, my face still mashed against his warm, ridiculously hard collarbone. His chest felt like solid wood, and my nose was filled with the smell of rain, cedar, and guy. My heart was going crazy, and every nerve in my skin felt like it was plugged into an electric socket. I hated it. I hated how my body was reacting to him. "Get..." His voice was a choked, raspy growl. "Get your knee off my stomach." "I'm TRYING, you big i***t! Your jacket ate my shoe!" I tried scrambling to untangle myself, my elbow digging into his chest as I pulled my foot out of his leather pocket. He let out a low groan, his giant hands grabbing my hips to steady me—or stop me from breaking his ribs. The heat of his hands burned right through my jeans, sending a weird, dangerous shiver up my spine. "Jesus," I wheezed, finally kicking my foot free and flopping backward onto the floor. "You're built like a wall. Who told you it was a good idea to stand directly under a ladder?" He sat up slowly, rubbing his jaw where my forehead had hit him. He looked furious, his dark eyes burning as he glared down at me. "Who told you it was a good idea to move heavy metal when you're this clumsy?" "Clumsy?!" I sat up, wiping dust off my face, totally offended. "I was fine until you walked in flexing your jaw like some dramatic asshole!" "I walked through a damn door," he snapped, his voice dropping into a low rumble that made the hair on my arms stand up. "You're the one who turned into a flying missile." Behind the counter, a straw made a loud SLURP as Roxy finished her boba. She leaned her elbows on the counter, looking down at us—me on my ass covered in dust, and the scariest guy in the territory sitting on the floor with a brass ring stuck to his coat. "That's forty bucks for the ring tray," Roxy said, completely unbothered. "And fifty for the assault. Unhinged, both of you." "I am NOT paying for his lack of spatial awareness," I muttered, scrambling up and brushing off my knees. The guy stood up in one super smooth, scary motion, completely towering over me. He adjusted his jacket, trying—and failing—to look calm and unbothered again. But I could see his pulse beating wildly in his neck. He was practically vibrating with tension. "I need a silver compass," he said, staring at the top of my head and refusing to make eye contact. "For... territory stuff. I stared at him. "This is a weird oddities shop. We sell taxidermy and old books. Go to a sport store, you giant pest." "Do you have one or not?" he growled, taking a step right into my personal space. The scent of him hit me again, thick and overwhelming. "Are you gonna check the back, or just stand there being loud?" "Listen to this guy," I muttered, rolling my eyes. "God give me patience." I turned around, walking down the narrow aisle. "Follow me, then. And don't touch anything, or Roxy will try to hex you." He followed so close behind me I could feel the heat radiating off his chest. Every time my shoulder almost touched his, a sharp jolt of electricity zapped through my skin. It was so annoying. My brain hated him, but my body felt like it was glitching. I reached the back shelf, grabbed a dusty wooden box, and turned around way too fast to hand it to him. "Here. Take your stupid—" My hand brushed his fingers. Zing. It started as a sharp, needle-thin spark at the tips of my fingers, instantly humming up my arm like a rising electric current. The air between us snapped tight. A heavy wave of pure, magnetic instinct slammed into the aisle. His pupils dilated until his eyes were almost completely black, his jaw locking tight as he froze in place. My breath hitched, my whole body pulling toward him like a magnet catching iron. Then, from the top shelf right above his head, two faint red lights flickered on. The Victorian taxidermy parrot—a dusty, fake bird stuffed back in the 1800s—rattled on its stand. Its glass eyes glowed bright red, and its beak snapped open. (Probably some weird Bluetooth speaker prank Roxy set up to freak out customers). "SNICKERDOODLES!" the bird shrieked, its voice echoing like a loud megaphone across the shop. "SHE SMELLS LIKE HONEY! GOD, SHE SMELLS SO GOOD! HE WANTS TO BITE HER NECK! BIG BAD ALPHA IS CRYING INSIDE!" My jaw literally dropped. The guy turned bright red, slamming his giant hand over the bird's beak. "Shut the f**k up!" The parrot squirmed through his fingers, its muffled voice screaming even louder: "ANNOYING AS HELL! STUPID BROAD SHOULDERS! WHY IS HIS SHIRT SO TIGHT? WANTS TO SLAP HIM! WANTS TO BITE HIS LIP! WHY ARE HIS HANDS SO BIG?!" "What the heavenly f**k?!" I yelled, wildly swatting at the bird with a rolled-up catalog. "That's a lie! That bird is broken! Roxy, your stupid prank is possessed!" The bird broke free, flapping its stiff wings and hopping straight onto the light fixture above Roxy's counter. It swivelled its head 180 degrees directly toward her. "SO DOWN BAD IT HURTS! MAGIC DRIVING HER CRAZY! WOULD TRASH THE BACK ROOM WITH THE DELIVERY GUY! HOT BARISTA HAS A TATTOO—" Roxy didn't flinch. She didn't blush. She just slowly set her boba cup down, leaned back against the counter, and shrugged with a completely straight face. "Okay, first of all? He DOES have a nice tattoo, and the back room has great lighting," Roxy said, her voice totally flat and devoid of shame. "Second of all, Barnaby, you snitch-ass piece of cotton, that was private." She didn't even break her cool-girl posture. She just casually reached over, grabbed a heavy brass candleholder from the register with one hand, and without missing a beat, hurled it directly at the bird's head like a dodgeball. "Meh," Roxy added, picking her boba back up as the bird dodged. "No regrets. The delivery guy is hot."