Page 110 of The Magic We Made

As I go down the steps from my back deck to my dock, I see only a few boats out on the water—unusual on such a glorious afternoon, even if it is a Monday.

But that’s because Haley and her minions sank almost all my neighbors’ watercraft. A salvage crew is already working to recover Mrs. DeLong’s kayaks and runabout. I’ll have to get their number for Ash.

Even if the lake weren’t already too crowded for me to swim safely, I wouldn’t go anyway. The temperature has plunged. As I watch, a flock of Canadian geese lands on the surface of the lake, honking noisily. I might be losing my mourning doves for the winter, but I’ll have plenty of other company.

As I lower myself onto the edge of the dock, sitting with my feet swinging over the water and my coffee cup on the sun-warmed wooden planks beside me, I can see no visible sign at all on Center Island of anything that happened the night before.

But it did. I know it did.

And the only question I have now is: How am I ever going to go back to my normal existence? How am I going to meet with patients all day, and listen to their problems, knowing that magic—magic, the Underworld, goddesses, witches—actually exists?

And yet... isn’t there a part of me that’s always known this? Not the part that died the day my father passed—the childish part that believed parents were indestructible and that, yes, Santa Claus and fairies were real—but the part of me that’s always wondered at the beauty of a sky like the one overhead right now, or the music of the birds? Wasn’t that the same part of methat got so angry when Ash’s renters played the stereo so loud, and drowned out that music? Becausenatureis a kind of magic. Dina seems to have always understood that. That’s why it was always so easy to respect her beliefs, even though they’re so far from my own.

Sure, all of it can be rationally explained... those mourning doves come back to nest in my tree every year because their instincts tell them to.

But isn’t it a sort of magic that they do, year in and year out? Or that Daisy—sweet, silly Daisy—chosemyfront porch to live under, out of everyone’s in the neighborhood?

Or that Ash chosethathouse, the one right next to mine, as an investment property?

Is that magic? Or is it simply a conjunction of incidents without any overt causal connection?

Why couldn’t it be both?

“Hey.”

I turn and see Ash standing behind me on my dock. He’s put on some clothes. I don’t know where he got them because they aren’t the same clothes he was wearing last night.

But there he is, looking impossibly handsome and sweet and... uncertain. Yes, he seems unsure of his reception.

I know the feeling. My family is a lot, too.

“How are you?” he asks, coming to stand beside me along the dock. “All right?”

“You mean because ofher?” I squint to look up the steps toward my house. I can’t see Gaia from here—she’s either left or is staying indoors. But I know that’s who he means. When Ash nods, I shrug. “Yes, of course, I’m fine. What do you think, that I’m going to freak out because of the discovery that magic—andgods—exist?” My voice is rising. There is perhaps a note of hysteria in it. I fight to lower it. “Because that’s not going to happen.”

Ash doesn’t smile. Nor does he sit down on the dock beside me. When he finally speaks, his voice is uncharacteristically calm and quiet.

“I know,” he says. “But like you said, this is a lot to wrap your head around. Guy went back to the city. And if you want me to go, too, just say the word.”

“Go?” My sunglasses are inside. I can barely see him, since he’s standing with his back to the sun. The golden glow around him is so bright, it almost hurts to look at. I have to lift a hand to shade my eyes. “Did she leave the shakshuka? Because I wanted to try it. And where are you going to go?”

“Yes, she left the shakshuka. And I’ll go back to the city. I’ll put the house on the market. You’ll never see me again, if that’s what you want, Frankie.”

“That’s not what I want,” I say, and hold my hand away from my eyes and up to him. He immediately seizes it in his warm, strong fingers, just as I’d known he would. “Why would I want you to go?”

He gestures back toward my house with one hand while keeping my hand firmly clenched in the other.

“Because ofher.” Then he gestures toward Center Island. “Andher, and everything that happened out there last night. That was all because of me and my family. I can’t even imagine what you must think of Guy.”

“Yeah, your grandmother may be a witch,” I say as I start climbing to my feet. “But you haven’t seen my family on Christmas Eve.” He’s pulled me the rest of the way up, but doesn’t release my hand. “Ever heard of the Feast of the Seven Fishes?”

When he shakes his head, I go on. “Well, you’re going to be infor a shock. I hope you like salted cod, because if you stick with me, you’re going to be spending alotof the holidays rinsing it.”

“What do you mean,ifI stick with you?”

“I mean what I said. I live here. You live in the city. But if you choose to stick around—”

He releases my hand, but only to snake an arm around my waist and pull me even closer. “Are you saying that if I did that, I’d be welcome?”