Page 9 of Impractical Magic

“Nothing! Nothing at all . . .” Scarlett crossed her arms over her chest and rocked back and forth on her heels. “Go on, go grab a broom for the witch . . . that’s so original.”

***

Nate brought the broom and a dustpan, and Scarlett set about tidying the floor while he made a pile of the remaining salvageable pieces.

“So, Nate,” she said as casually as she could. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I help your mom out sometimes, no big deal.”

“No, not here. I mean in Oak Haven. Didn’t you want out of this town even more than I did? Whatever happened to Mr. Get out of Dodge?”

“Dunno, Scar. Whatever happened to Ms. Stay Home Forever?”

“Ouch.” Scarlett took a step back, stung. “You know exactly what happened.”

“You’re right.” Nate paused, then spoke more gently. “Shouldn’t joke about all that.”

They worked in silence for a while, awkwardness hanging over them like an indoor rain cloud. They were both relieved when Luna returned, brushing some remaining gourd guts off her dress.

“All done,” she chirped.

“That quick?” Scarlett gazed at the appalling piano mess all over the floor.

Luna held the front door open so the other two could see her handiwork. She’d transformed all the smashed gourds into pumpkins and neatly lined them along the walkway. “You can’t really see from here,” she explained, “but if you go outside, you’ll see they’re all carved with the faces of famous topiarists.” With that, Luna went skipping into the dining room, no further questions permitted.

Scarlett and Nate were left staring. “Can you name a single famous topiarist?” she asked.

“I’m not sure I know what a topiarist is,” Nate replied.

“Someone who designs ornamental plants—you know, topiaries?” Scarlett smiled slyly. “I mean, duh.”

“Ohhhh,” Nate said with a laugh. “A topiarist, why didn’t I think of that? Well sure, of course there’s tons of famous ones, there’s . . . um . . . nah. Kidding. I have no clue.”

“Some guy at Windsor Castle? Probably?”

Nate chuckled and went back to lumber stacking. “How’s San Francisco these days? You guys have got, what . . . Alcatraz, Google, and terrible weather. Is that about the size of it?”

She grinned. “Perfect description—you’ve really nailed it.”

“What’s that saying? The coldest winter I ever knew was the summer I spent in San Francisco?”

“Yeah yeah yeah. Whoever said that was full of it.” Scarlett emptied the dustpan into the trash and knelt down on the floor to gather up the escaped piano keys. “Seriously, I love it there. Lots of interesting people, great restaurants, very lively.”

“By interesting people, you mean interesting witches?”

“No, not at all! I mean, I’m sure there are covens around; I just don’t participate. Nope, I live a completely normal life. I work in an office, I bike everywhere, buy groceries, binge Netflix, sleep seven hours, and start over again.”

Nate made a face. “Seriously? You like living like that?”

“I happen to love living like that!” But as soon as the words came out of her mouth, Scarlett knew she’d oversold it. “I mean, it’s cool. It’s good.”

“Sounds horrible.”

“I’m sorry, who are you again?” She stood up, ebony-and-ivory-filled hands on her hips. “So far as I know, you haven’t left this town even once in your whole life, but you’re going to stand there judging me? Like you know me or something?”

“I used to know you pretty well, Scar.”

“You haven’t seen me in ten years, Nate.”