A Little Bite of Magic Goes a Long Way (BxB)

5 ~ Ben

I didn't know what to do.

I didn't know how to make Matt understand how scared I was.

I didn't use to be so scared.

When I'd moved here, offered to rent this house and take care of the...unique...museum it houses, I'd thought it was amazing.

At the time, I'd just learned that there was so much more to this world than I'd ever imagined—more magic, more mystery—incredible, wonderful, dangerous things, and I felt honored to be a part of it.

Then Matt joined me, and I'd been afraid ever since.

Because, while I know I did a bad job of showing it, he was my life.

He was my everything.

When I met him, I was in a dark, lonely place, and he lit my world like a million fireflies—like a fucking miracle.

He also had zero sense of self-preservation, trusted everything and everyone, and thought spiders were cute. Fucking spiders. The jumpy, fuzzy ones with the big eyes. Urgh.

Taking care of him was like chasing a happy puppy through a minefield.

I loved him and he was adorable, but he'd be the death of me someday.

And nothing seemed to phase him.

He'd bounced back from being electrocuted like a kid with a scraped knee who is up and running again after a band-aid and a few tears, injury forgotten. He'd laughed and joked with the technicians while they ran tests on his heart to make sure it hadn't been damaged, and asked questions about all the wires being attached to him until a nurse brought him some jello to make him shut up ("Hospital jello, Ben!").

Meanwhile, I'd sat by in a cold sweat, imagining the worst.

I needed to relax.

In the following days, things seemed almost normal. The activity in the house was oddly quiet, and Matt was disappointed he hadn't seen anything since the faces in the windows (shudder). He seemed quieter than usual, though, and that had me worried almost as much as his new "I see dead people" shtick. 

I just couldn't win.

He'd left for work this morning, but for me, Saturday was a day off. Usually, I caught up on housework or went for a run, but this time I had other concerns. My parents were coming for a visit the next day, and I needed to make dinner reservations, get the guest room ready, and shop for groceries.

Normal, everyday, mundane things—no paranormal abilities necessary.

Around mid-morning, though, I decided to visit Matt at his bakery. I still hadn't decided where to take my parents for dinner, and he always had a good sense for that kind of thing, even if he did have more adventurous tastes.

Happy Tails Cafe was located on a quaint, touristy side street that ran up a steep hill perpendicular to the bay. The front was painted pink and white, with trim that looked like frosting, and a wide-open patio in the front. The seating was widely spaced, and the tables all bolted down—not because of theft, but so that the cafe's nonhuman patrons didn't knock them over.

Happy Tails was a 'dog cafe.'

Matt served human treats, too, of course, and I had to admit that, despite my reservations about the whole idea, he had talent.

He was self-taught, and yet he'd received praise from a number of professionals and glowing reviews in local and regional publications.

His cafe was popular—beloved, even—and in no danger of going out of business. The problem was that (along with any other kind) Matt lacked business sense.