Curious [Howl x Reader]

Chapter Three: Lemonade Actually

All the way to your aunt's cottage, you could feel the wallet pressing against the side of your leg through the satchel. You sighed. What had you gotten yourself into this time?

You kept your head down as you ruminated the situation you found yourself in, working what you had heard over and over in your mind into a more comprehensible form. So. A man who may or may not be part of the mafia and who may or may not be an infamous hitman had apparently opened up an antique store in town. You also may or may not have found him cute. You swore under your breath. Why did you have such terrible luck with men?

As rows of shops gave way to long, rippling grass and the riotous bloom of gardens, you continued to ponder your situation. While normally, you would've stopped to admire the hydrangeas or listen to the nearby murmur of the sea, with the thoughts spinning in your head like a barrow wheel, you found yourself running smack into your aunt's door before you even remembered to look up.

You winced and held a hand to your head. Well, at least you didn't have to knock now.

A rush of quiet footsteps welled up from behind the door. Then, Clara swung it open.

As always, the doorframe dwarfed her, accentuating her tiny, birdlike frame. "Oh, (Y/N), you're finally here!" she chirped. "The weather's nice, so we decided to eat in the back garden. Come on, I'll tell (aunt's name) you're here."

She motioned for you to follow her, and together you made your way through a long, narrow hallway lined with embroidery pieces, their quaint stitches filling you with a kind of peace as you entered the sunlit garden.

There, among the overgrown rose bushes and lilies of the valley, three women sat around a glass table. To your left, Ms. Petersen, the post office clerk, masticated a tiny cucumber sandwich, bovine in her slow, methodical chewing. To your right, Mrs. Dupain, Bridget's mother, gesticulated wildly with a toothpick as she engaged your aunt in conversation, no doubt recounting a recent shopping adventure.

Straight in front of you sat your aunt. She occupied her chair like a throne, staring at a rosebush as Mrs. Dupain continued to recount the simply adorable lamb statue that she'd been able to get for half the going price, wasn't that superb.

As you and Clara pushed past a blueberry bush, your aunt's eyes lit up in recognition. "(Y/N)!" she cried out, rising from her seat. "Well, if it isn't my favorite relative. Oi, Edith, move over. (Y/N) needs to sit here." She waved at Ms. Petersen, who shuffled over to make room, still working on her sandwich.

You ran over and allowed her to squeeze you into a tight, rib-cracking hug. "Hey, auntie. Happy birthday. Oof, mind my ribs," you said as she crushed you against her.

"Aw, thank you, (Y/N)," she said. She opened her arms back up so that you could extract yourself from her vice-like grip. She turned her head. "Did (mom's name) deign to come with you, or is she absent again?"

You rubbed the back of your neck. "Unfortunately, she said she couldn't make it. She's, ah, got prior appointments." You swallowed. "She said to send you her best regards."

Your aunt snorted. "Hah! Isn't that just like my sister. Won't even deign to stop by and wish her own sister a happy birthday. Well, I'm not surprised. At least the family that matters is here." She gave your arm an affectionate squeeze. "Well, come on, don't just stand there! Come, sit here."

Settling into the chair next to her, you rummaged around in your satchel. "By the way, here's your present, auntie." You presented it to her with a flourish. "Hope you like it."