Page 72 of The Magic We Made

It’s going to be fine.

Or at least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

Sure, I slept with Ash Merit (multiple times).

And yeah, I even let him stay the night, and made him breakfast the next morning, after which we somehow fell into bed together again (technically, it was the dining room table).

And okay, I don’t know where this relationship is going. Maybe it will only last the weekend. We don’t have anything in common except a mutual love of West Harbor real estate, good food, cats, and sex.

Ash lives in the city. I live in the country. Ash likes trucks. I prefer compact electric vehicles. Ash believes in outdoor speakers and the supernatural. I believe in silence and that everything has a rational and scientific explanation.

But when I’m with him, I feel... happy. Really happy.

I know that the more time you spend with the object of your attraction, the more oxytocin your body produces. The more oxytocin you produce, the more you’re attracted to your partner. It’s a vicious cycle that makes it even more painful when the inevitable breakup occurs.

And yet, despite knowing all this, I seem to be paralyzed in its grip. And I’m not the only one.

Ash is a hit with everyone in my family, too—though obviously not due to sex hormones, or even because he’s the first guy I’ve brought to Sunday Gravy since Richard and I broke up.

No, Ash really does have a way with people. It’s evident the second we drive up to my mother’s house. We took Ash’s truck because he insisted we were going to buy so much stuff at the farmers market, it would not fit in the back of my Prius. I realized at once this was a ploy so he could show me how cool it is to drive around in a vintage truck.

And itwaskind of fun. But the truck still gets less than twenty miles per gallon and is extremely loud.

Mark, who is in the front yard with our nieces, turns to stare as soon as he hears thePUTT PUTT PUTTof our approach.Everyoneturns to stare at the approach of Ash’s truck, everywhere he goes.

“I know,” he says to me as he throws on the brake. My mother’s neighbors are out in their yard, raking what few leaves have already fallen and staring at the truck. “Iknow,okay?”

I smile but say nothing as we climb from the vehicle and are greeted by my ecstatic nieces—who are always excited to see me—and a smiling Mark.

“Hey, you came!” he calls cheerfully.

It’s plain to me as his older sibling that Mark’s enthusiastic “you came” has nothing to do with excitement that we’ve arrived: he can tell I finally got laid and is happy for me.

But Ash, who has no siblings and so has never experienced themerciless teasing that can come from them, has no idea that this is the case.

“Yeah!” he cries, as he climbs from the truck. “Happy to be here.”

“I bet you are.” Mark’s grin widens as he winks at me. I’ll get even with him sometime in the future, but in the meantime, I’m hugging my nieces, who are both clinging to my legs.

“Did you see my back handspring?” Portia cries.

“I did. You two are getting better every day.”

“That is some truck,” Mark says to Ash as we walk up the brick path to my mother’s front porch, the two little girls trailing excitedly after us.

“You think so?” Ash glances at the Chevy parked on the road behind us. “I’m considering selling it. I’m thinking about something... quieter.” I suppress a quick smile as Ash turns toward Mark. “Would you be interested?”

Mark loses all semblance of cool. “What?Are you serious? Yeah, I want it. How much?”

“Oh, I think we could figure out something that works for both of us.” Now Ash is the one giving me a wink as I open the door to Mom’s house.

He’s going to sell the truck. He’s going to sell the truck because I said I hate it. I feel another surge of joy at this but quickly suppress it, since I know it’s only the dopamine talking.

Isn’t it?

The first thing Ash does when he steps into my mom’s house is hand her a gift from the farmers market.

“Sweets to the sweet,” he says to my mother, after presenting her with a jar of honey.