Page 80 of No Charm Done

She laughed, and just like that, the weight on him lifted, just the tiniest bit. They walked out into the afternoon sun, into the noise of SoHo, into whatever came next.

Chapter 23

Yankee Doodle Dandy

An open portal shimmered in the alley behind CastR headquarters. On one side was SoHo, all exposed brick and expensive sneakers. On the other was Oak Haven, land of gas lamps and cobblestones. Luna stood at the threshold, steadying her leather satchel with one hand and reaching for Elias with the other.

“Come on,” she said. “Mama’s waiting.”

But Elias had stopped moving. He stood back from the portal’s edge, hands in his pockets, that careful expression on his face that Luna was starting to recognize as trouble.

“I should stay.”

Luna’s hand dropped. “What?”

“Keep an eye on CastR headquarters. Make sure Burke doesn’t get suspicious about our little performance.”

His tone was reasonable. Far too reasonable. Shaw had to be up to something, but Luna couldn’t reckon what.

“Smart money says he’ll want to do some digging, figure out who those consultants really were. That could lead him back to Oak Haven, giving him the jump on us. I should stick around to handle things, just in case.”

Tactically, it made sense. But something about the way he wouldn’t quite meet her eyes made Luna’s stomach twist a bit.

Oh gods. He’s regretting it. The Oyster Bar. The table. Him, hands in her hair. Her, grabbing his chest like she’d wanted to climb inside it. The world narrowing down to just them.

Heat flooded her face.

“Shaw, we need to stick together⁠—”

“Trust me on this, sweetheart.”

There it was. His favorite word: sweetheart. But it hit differently somehow. Like he was already backing away, making things casual, pretending nothing had happened. And before Luna could argue, before she could grab his arm or demand some clarity or do literally anything except stand there like a dope, Shaw stepped forward, placed one hand on her shoulder, and gently pushed.

She stumbled backward through the shimmer, confusion mixing with a hurt she didn’t want to admit. The portal snapped shut like a door slamming in another room. She found herself alone on Oak Haven’s town green, one hand still outstretched toward empty air, feeling irretrievably stupid.

He regrets it. He kissed me and now he regrets it and he can’t even stand to travel through a portal with me because of the Awkward.

I’m such an idiot.

A breeze from the closing portal tugged at her hair. The satchel pressed heavier against her ribs. And mingling with her embarrassment—because she was definitely embarrassed, mortified actually—was something else. Something that felt uncomfortably like missing him, which was absurd because he’d only been gone for four seconds, and besides, he clearly didn’t want to be near her, so why should she miss him?

Luna forced herself to take a breath and shove all of that into a mental box labeled “Deal With Later” or possibly “Never.”

She looked around.

She’d expected the town green to look normal. Maybe Mama by the gazebo. Maybe Scarlett pacing with her phone, orchestrating social media chaos. Maybe kids playing tag, oblivious.

But there was a parade float in the middle of the green.

Not near the green. Not passing through the green. Dead center, as if someone had airlifted the whole thing and dropped it on the grass. Red, white, and blue bunting smothered every surface. Papier-mâché eagles spun their wings in the nonexistent breeze and American flags jutted from every corner. It was like the Fourth of July had thrown up all over it. Atop the float stood an eight-person brass band. They were playing “Stars and Stripes Forever.” Loudly. On repeat.

A faint, acrid scent lingered in the air, out of place amid the summer freshness. A hint of burnt rubber. The shadows beneath the float were distorted, twisting along the grass in unnatural shapes.

Luna’s eye twitched.

Then there were the children.

There were five of them, all around ten years old, dressed in elaborate colonial costumes. Little Ben Franklin with wire-rim glasses perched on his nose, clutching a kite. Little George Washington with a powdered wig too large for his head. Little Thomas Jefferson. Little John Adams. Little Alexander Hamilton.