“I’m not answering that.” She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out her little black book, which had always brought about trouble in the past. “What are you doing?” I asked warily.

“I’m finding a penis to help you tonight.”

“Faye. I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of emotional connection with someone.”

“What the hell does sex have to do with emotions?” she wondered, completely serious. I didn’t even know how to tackle that question. “Anyway, I know this guy who can help you clean up your garden of weeds. His name is Edward. He’s a creative genius when it comes to that stuff. Once, he drew hearts down there on me for Valentine’s.”

“You’re so disturbing.”

She smiled. “I know. But I can set up an appointment with Edward Scissorhands for you, and then you can pick any guy in my book to have a nice, easy, one-night stand with.”

“I don’t do one-night stands.”

“Okay. You can lie down to do it, if you want.” She smirked. “But seriously, Liz. Have you thought about dating? Just getting out there around a few guys. It doesn’t have to be anything serious, but I think it could be good for you. I don’t want you to stay stuck in neutral.”

“I’m not stuck in neutral,” I argued, slightly offended. “It’s just—I have a daughter. And it’s only been a year since Steven’s death.”

Wow.

I was somewhat impressed by how it had rolled off my tongue without any backlash of emotion.

“I didn’t mean it in a harsh way. You know I love you, and you know how much Steven meant to me.”

“I know...”

“Look, I’m a womanwhore, but even womanwhores get their hearts broken sometimes, and for me, when things are hard to move on from, sex always helps.”

I laughed. “I don’t think I’m ready for that just yet, but I’ll keep it in mind.”

“I understand, sweetie. But if there comes a point when you feel as if you need my little book, you just let me know.”

I smiled. “Your book seems so small now. I could’ve sworn it was bigger before.”

Her hand dove into her apron again, and she pulled out two more books. “Don’t be silly. I was just trying to seem ladylike by only displaying one at a time.”

During my break, curiosity got the best of me, and I found myself stepping foot into Mr. Henson’s shop. Within a few seconds, it was easy to tell that Mr. Henson pretty much sold anything and everything magical. Half of the store was a coffee shop while the other half was set up like a closet that was filled with things I’d seen in many supernatural stories.

As I entered, the bell dinged above the door, causing Mr. Henson and Tristan to look at one another with confusion in their eyes. When they turned my way, I tried my best to act normal as I explored the store, even though I could still feel their eyes on me.

I paused for one moment, reaching to the top shelf of one of the bookcases for a book. A book of spells? Okay then. The binding was tied together with string, and it was covered in dust. I picked up another book. Both pieces looked older than dirt, but still somewhat beautiful. Dad had always loved finding old gems like those in vintage shops. He’d had a huge collection of old books in his study that were in different languages or on subjects he hadn’t any idea about, but he just loved how the covers felt and looked.

“How much for these two?” I asked Mr. Henson. He remained silent. I arched an eyebrow. “I’m sorry. Are you closed?” When my stare met Tristan’s, I held the books to my chest and my cheeks blushed over. “Hi.”

Mr. Henson cut into the conversation, which was probably for the best.

“Oh! No, no. We’re open. We just don’t get that many visitors. Especially visitors as easy to look at as you are,” Mr. Henson said, sitting down on the edge of the countertop. “What’s your name, darling?” His comment broke my stare away from Tristan, and I cleared my throat, somewhat pleased by the distraction.

“Elizabeth. And you?”

“I’m Mr. Henson. And if I weren’t four hundred times your senior and very engrossed in the male anatomy, I might think about taking you out dancing at the old barn house.”

“Dancing? What makes you think a girl like me would be interested in dancing?”

Mr. Henson kept the look of pleasure on his face and didn’t answer.

I walked over and sat beside him. “This is your store?”

“It is. Every inch, every square. Unless you want it.” Mr. Henson laughed. “Because if you want it, then it’s yours. Every inch, every square.”

“That’s very tempting. But I have to say, I have read every Stephen King book ever published five times over and the idea of taking on a store called Needful Things is a bit alarming.”

“Between you and me, I thought about calling it Answered Prayers, but I’m not much of a religious guy.”

I snickered. Tristan did too.

I looked over at him, pleased that we were laughing at the same time, so he stopped.

My eyes fell to the books. “Is it okay if I take these off your hands?”

“They’re yours, free of charge.”

“Oh, no… I want to pay.”

Going back and forth, the two of us argued about me taking the books for free, but I wouldn’t let up. Mr. Henson ultimately folded.

“And this is why I stick to my men. Women are too much like me. Come back in another day and I’ll give you a free tarot reading.”